


Putting Out Fire With Gasoline

by stigmata4



Series: Rising from the Ashes [1]
Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Adult Language, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Ass right away!, BAMF Daryl Dixon, BAMF Jesus (Walking Dead), Canon-Typical Violence, Daryl Dixon Has a Large Cock, Daryl Dixon Loves Jesus, Desus - Freeform, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, Gay, Gay Sex, Graphic Description, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Jesus Loves Daryl Dixon, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, New Peeps, Oral Sex, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Paul "Jesus" Rovia Has a Large Cock, Shameless Smut, Smut, Versatile Gay Sex, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies, cum, darus - Freeform, m/m - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-03-31 08:04:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 37,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13970811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stigmata4/pseuds/stigmata4
Summary: In the aftermath of the war, the time has come for the largest cooperative endeavor between the groups, and Daryl and Paul, the BAMF-ing power couple of the Hilltop, lead the effort to explore the new world, all the while providing for others, protecting their family, meeting new friends/enemies, and exploring their intense love for each other.





	1. Waiting for Aunt Carol

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah! This is my first time writing any kind of fan fiction; some of you will read it and be like, “Well that’s for damn sure.” I still hope you enjoy it in some capacity, and I thank you for at least giving it a try. I wanted to give you a story with some humor, some drama (not heavy on the angst though—I find a little goes a long way), some intrigue, and lots of smut. I have no idea how big it will be yet, but I am thinking three parts with multiple chapters. There will be some exposition and time shifts to see how our heroic couple got together because I know that everyone’s dying to find out about it (me too!), and there will be some new characters. In fact, I am on a huge spy kick right now—totally loving some Atomic Blonde, RED, Salt, and The Americans—so expect the new characters to reflect that but still sway to TWD, like an awesome undead shambling creature should!
> 
>  
> 
> As a follower of TWD, I am a huge Daryl fan in particular and had expected/hoped that maybe he would find some happiness. Suddenly in 2016 the clouds parted and a choir of angels sang out when I saw the character we’d all been waiting for—Jesus himself— get up close with our boy Daryl. Okay, there could have been absolutely anyone else on that run with Rick: Glenn, Aaron, Rosita, Tara, Heath, Morgan, Carol—hell, even Spencer or Olivia, but no—it was Daryl. So why? Let the queerbaiting begin. And for those who say, “But Kirkman says he’s straight.” Well, what can I tell you other than that Kirkman (along with Gimple, Nicotero, Reedus, & Payne) is going to tell you the truth has he sees it at that moment (kind of like one of the Aes Sedai from Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time series—read it!). Point is that truth could change 20 seconds later and still be the truth because he has the ultimate control here. He will not admit to anything when fans ask directly, and I ain’t mad at ‘im for it; that’s his bread and butter, so he can do whatever he needs to in order to protect it. Plus, AMC’s gonna get theirs—‘nuff said. But if you feel that strongly, please don’t read this or any other Desus/Darus works of mine. And sorry, but there will be no Rickyl, Darsita, Caryl, Bethyl, Degan, Rick/Daryl/Negan, Daryl/Negan/Jesus, Daryl/Jesus/Rick/Negan, Daryl/Ezekiel/Jerry/Tobin/Shiva (what the fuck?) etc. here; I respect them and even enjoy some of them, but my ship sails on a different sea. Thanks, and happy reading! Any mistakes are mine. I tried to be thorough in editing. If you like it, drop me a line and leave a kudo. If you have an idea to pose, please feel free.
> 
>  
> 
> As for dialog, there is a lot of dialect writing, and I apologize if it makes things a bit harder to read. Note that it is not always consistent, depending on usage and situation. How do I know this? Because I come from south fucking Georgia and speak redneck as my primary language. And yes, it’s a VIE-DAYL-ya onion, not a vee-DOLL-ya. It’s how we speak. 
> 
>  
> 
> Special shout out to AbigailHT, @youremytpayne (Instagram), TheMeeDes (tumblr), MyPinkCactus, Mugatu, LadyKimmey, D_J_Marlowe, brightlikeloulou, VBabe16, and so many many others—love your work! You are all inspirations! If anyone wants to have their art images used and credited send me a line.
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction in celebration of The Walking Dead and its characters. This is for entertainment and experiential purposes only. No infringement is intended. TWD series, characters, and comics are the intellectual properties of AMC Television and Skybound Entertainment.

The hunter reached around to take the scout’s chest and pull him up from the prior doggy stance to continue their intimate activity, kneeling together in the middle of the bed. He shifted his arm down from Paul’s strong pecs, his fingers raking lovingly down the smaller man’s abs, and locking his hand onto the scout’s hip as he continued thrusting deep inside. Paul moved eagerly with his lover, arching his back and raising and lowering himself over and over on the brawny man’s throbbing erection. The sounds of love, lust, and passion issuing from each of the men served to stir one another to heightened sensitivity. Daryl’s pace was getting frantic, and his heart was pounding in time to Paul’s.

He could tell Paul was close. The smaller man had stopped talking dirty and had become more intent on their physicality, both of them rising to imminent climax. Daryl reached around with his right hand and moved Paul’s hand away, taking hold of his man’s cock and stroking it in time with his own thrusts. Paul had a hand behind him on Daryl’s left hip, the other now squeezing Daryl’s right thigh, his head thrown back on the hunter’s strong shoulder so that he could turn to kiss and lick Daryl. Their breathing had picked up significantly. Sweat was pouring down their bodies, tickling and tantalizing them both.

“Fuck! Daryl, I’m so close! Please—want you to—want you to cum with me!” Paul begged as he tried to convey his desire, his voice strained and breathy.

Daryl could feel Paul’s sphincter begin to tighten, and the man’s cock flexed in his grasp with his strong strokes. There was no turning back, and the heat in the archer’s abdomen began to move lower and gather. He was going to cum and cum hard. Paul could tell too, and he picked up his own pace on the hunter’s cock, moaning shamelessly. Daryl knew what his man needed to hear, and he was so close himself that he knew he had to hurry to get it out.

“You’re all mine, Paul! Just you—you’re the best thing I ever had—I--! Love you! FUCK! M’gonna cum, Paul! Gonna cum in ya! Oh, fuck! Oh, FUCK!!! Cum for me!! Want—you ta—CUM!!!” Daryl rasped between pointed groans and gulping breaths. He bit down on Paul’s shoulder; it was happening.

“Oh, god! Daryl, I love you so much—AHHH!!!” Paul yelled out as his cock pulsed, and he ejaculated for his man. Daryl grunted out with each thrust of his own cock, jetting deep inside Paul. His little ninja loved the sounds the archer made when he came; they were rough and primal, full of unrelenting craving, crashing into the realization that it had been truly achieved. They rode each other through their orgasms and gradually came to rest, clinging to each other in the dark and still of the tiny trailer.

“Easy, easy! I got ya!” Daryl rasped into Paul’s ear, panting hard and slowly rocking Paul against his chest. “I’m here! I got ya! I love ya too, Paul, so goddamn much. I need ya ta know.”

The tears began to stream down his cheeks as his breathing started to slow back down from its racing pace. They didn’t happen every time, but when the emotions ran so high, so very deep, so incredibly full, there was just no stopping them. Daryl honestly didn’t mind them anymore. The hunter had long ago lost his embarrassment about the tears that sometimes flowed freely in the company of his love. 

_You have to let yourself feel it._

Through the euphoria of his climax, he could make out the feeling of the slick heat of his own ejaculate mingling with the sensations from Paul’s tightness. He was still hard inside him; that’s what Paul did to him, made him a goddamn superhuman fucking machine. Tonight, he would let Paul succumb to sleep only if his little ninja was truly satiated.

_Dear god! This is real. This is now. He loves me. He really loves me._

Paul leaned his head back onto the hunter’s shoulder, his long, beautiful neck exposed and his face turned toward Daryl. Paul’s eyes—the color of kyanite gemstones, as best Daryl could make out from a book he found in the house library—were heavy-lidded, the remnants of lust and beginnings of exhaustion both present. He kissed the hunter’s jawline, then his tears, sucking softly at his cheeks.

“You. Are. The. Greatest.” Paul said between breaths and kisses. “So beautiful. So perfect!” Daryl was about to protest—out of habit rather than insecurity—when Paul reached up to run his hand through the brawny man’s hair and pulled him down closer to kiss him deeper, cutting off the reply. Daryl could feel his and Paul’s back and thigh muscles quivering from their most recent bout. 

After a few moments of breathing into each other’s mouths, their tongues and lips working in gentle contrast to their recent exertions, Daryl began to slowly ease his cock out of Paul’s warmth. The scout immediately reached both hands back behind himself to grab hold at Daryl’s hips in a desperate move to keep him from pulling out so soon. 

“Not yet! Please!” he gasped, sweat still rolling down his face and causing his long hair to stick to his and his lover’s cheeks. “I need you in me just a little longer.” He sucked at Daryl’s lower lip and the tip of his tongue when the hunter presented it.

Daryl moaned as the kiss reignited and drew him in. He eased himself and his little ninja down onto their sides, resting Paul’s head on his left bicep with his arm curled underneath the scout’s head, fingers stroking through his hair slightly. The hunter’s right arm draped down his lover’s side with his hand on Paul’s large, thick cock, still sticky from his own cooling cum as it slowly softened. He was careful to stay inside throughout their maneuvering. It meant so much to his love, and frankly, Daryl enjoyed impressing the young man by acquiescing to the request, which took significant strength and stamina, something he had surprised himself with and also attributed to his undeniable attraction to Paul.

Over the next few minutes, he spooned the young man, with his solid chest up tight against Paul’s back, burying his nose in the scout’s hair. His little ninja had found several bottles of peppermint shampoo and conditioner on their last run. Daryl preferred it infinitely to the artificial fruity stuff they so often found. He inhaled slowly and held each breath for a second, enjoying the combination of Paul’s scent, the shampoo, and their mutual sweat. Finally, after he had softened somewhat, he pulled himself slowly out of Paul, eliciting a moan that transformed into a contented sigh. Paul had reached his right hand back over Daryl’s arm and was drawing random patterns with his thumb on the hunter’s right hip just at the start of his Atlas belt. Daryl planted several long kisses on Paul’s scalp, working down to his neck and right shoulder. It was the site of several hickeys he had left earlier that night. Daryl kissed them gently as Paul’s breathing began to change again, sleep looming over them both. 

“Now, maybe you can sleep good.”

“Mmhmm,” Paul murmured. “Are you—( _yawn_ )--sleepy now, too?” A big yawn tore through the question.

Daryl answered with an immediately contagious yawn of his own that was just as speech inhibiting. “Ye—( _yawn_ )--yeah.” 

The hunter hadn’t looked over at the clock, but he knew it had to be after 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning as this was the second time they had fucked—with an intense sixty-nine session in between—since going to bed about 11:00. The first time had been almost an hour, with positions changing and both men topping interchangeably. The blow jobs that followed were fraught with bouts of rimming and fingering as well, rolling about the bed to exact better responses from each other. Their final exchange had started fast, broken to a painstaking torture session of Daryl being taunted by Paul rubbing their cocks together ever so slowly, and a resulting marathon of intercourse in which the hunter was determined to give his man the best moment of their night; he was pretty sure he’d succeeded. 

Daryl had never had much of a sexual appetite before being with Paul. In the beginning he had worried about that, believing his lack of experience might result in an inability to satisfy Paul’s libido. Sure, he jerked off from time to time, and he had had sex, but Daryl had never considered himself to be someone who was particularly good at sex. The younger man could be voracious when it came to sex with Daryl; however, that didn’t mean that the scout was selfish. In fact, Paul gave as good—or better—than he got, in Daryl’s opinion. But, if seeing was believing, then witnessing Paul’s reactions to his touch had chased away the redneck’s doubts about his own sexual prowess. 

_“There’s no right way to do this,”_ Paul had told him in the beginning. _“We’ll just try any- and everything we want to do until we find what works for us together.”_

At first, Daryl had thought himself abysmal, sexually speaking, having had only a couple of meager “straight” make-out experiences to shut up Merle and his cronies and a few random, fleeting encounters with guys that left him disappointed. This had caused Daryl a great deal of anxiety about his early relationship with the scout; he hadn’t thought sex, much less a relationship, was in the cards for him. Suddenly this damn hippie prick turned up, showed him precisely what the fuck love was all about, and thanks to Paul’s patience, his encouragement, and the sheer chemistry they shared, Daryl’s anxiety was alleviated in due course. Sure, he still had insecurities that Paul helped him with, and there were those of Paul’s that he helped to overcome. In the end, their individual worries were easier to deal with together. 

And now, as far as sex went, the brawny man took personal sense of pride in his ability to make Paul cum in a variety of ways. Daryl had never considered that he would be with someone at all, not to mention fucking, sucking, rimming, fingering, jerking—a cornucopia of pleasure, sometimes all day and night, fucking like a couple of twenty-somethings. And Paul knew his buttons too. He could transform Daryl into a quivering puddle of satisfaction, quicken him a few minutes later, and draw him through pure ecstasy once more—a feat the hunter had never believed possible until he was with his little ninja intimately. There were things Paul could say to this day that still turned Daryl’s face scarlet and always made his abdomen begin to warm, gave him goosebumps, and caused his jeans to become instantly too tight. 

On top of it all, the duo were madly in love. Anyone who saw them together for more than a minute would be hard pressed to deny it. At the end of the world, Daryl had found Jesus, and that union had completely rocked the entire universe for both men. It had taken a lot to get here; they had both lost so much, and they were resolved to make the most of what they had together for as long as forever might be. 

For fuck’s sake: they are _**Daryl Motherfuckin’ Dixon**_ and _**Paul “Jesus” Rovia!**_ Accept no goddamned substitutions. They redefine gay power couple; these two are balls-out, badass motherfucking boyfriends, and they both revel in it.

Daryl turned to pick up one of the clean hand towels they kept in the nightstand. He used it and a small bowl of slightly soapy water to clean Paul and himself up a bit so that they could rest more comfortably. When he was finished, he resumed his spooning position behind Paul and pulled the sheet up over them both. 

After closing his eyes for what seemed like just a few minutes, there was a knock at the trailer door. Daryl’s eyes opened, and he eased his arm out from underneath Paul—much to the scout’s displeasure—massaging the circulation back into the limb a bit as it had fallen asleep under the pressure of his love’s adorably cute noggin. Their trailer was warming up, and there was sunlight streaming in the windows from the bright autumn day. Paul stirred, leaned up on his elbows, and rolled over to lay his head on Daryl’s chest. There was a red mark on his cheek from where he’d slept on Daryl’s elbow. He craned his neck up and kissed Daryl chastely to avoid morning breath, not that either of them minded too much; there were so many other things for people to be worried about in the here and now. 

“Good morning, beautiful,” Paul whispered. 

“Pfft! Stop,” Daryl huffed and blushed. That never failed to get him. The hunter was of the distinct opinion that he sure as hell wasn’t beautiful, not like his little ninja, but when Paul said it to him, it sure made him feel like he was. His crooked smile shone back at the scout.

“Did someone knock?” Paul asked, blinking and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

Right on cue, the knock repeated. 

Daryl sighed and groaned a bit as he sat up, shifting Paul back to his own pillow.

“Daryl? Jesus? You guys up?” came Bertie’s kind voice. “Last call for breakfast! We’ve got grits, eggs, and biscuits! You guys come on!”

Daryl hopped up onto the cold floor, knocking the comforter off the foot of the bed, where it had been kicked to during their night’s sporting, and dragging the sheet off of Jesus. Paul yelped and curled up at the sudden rush of cold air against his naked skin.

“Asshole!” 

“Yeah, yeah. Bitch, bitch, bitch,” Daryl quipped then smirked as he took a cigarette and lighter from the pack he had left on the table and wrapped the sheet haphazardly around his waist while traipsing over to the door, unlocking the bolt, and opening it up. He knew his hair was all over the place, and he must have looked a complete hot mess, the aftermath of a toga party gone way wrong, because he couldn’t help but notice how Bertie’s eyebrows shot up and her eyes went wide as saucers as she took in his appearance. She was doing her damnedest to fight back a guffaw of laughter. Whatever.

“Hey, Bertie,” he said, lighting up. “We got time to grab a quick shower?”

Bertie nodded emphatically. “I think that would be best, Daryl. I’ll tell ‘em to hold a couple of plates in the oven for my favorite fellas, but you guys need to move like you got a purpose!” That said, she turned on her heel and left, shaking her head and giggling to herself.

Daryl finished his smoke, crushed the cigarette butt out against the broken cinderblock they often used to prop open the door, and dropped the butt into an old coffee canister he used as a receptacle. Shutting the door behind him, he could hear the shower running and saw that Paul was no longer huddled on the bed. He dropped the sheet back on the mattress, bent down and threw the comforter back up with it, and padded off into the tiny bathroom. Paul had tied up his hair into a topknot to keep it from getting too wet and was soaping himself up when Daryl stepped into the small shower stall behind him and began rubbing up and down the scout’s soapy back, massaging his lover’s incredible ass, and admiring his beautiful physique. 

“Oh, that feels good! Are they holding breakfast for us?”

“Yeah,” Daryl replied. “Ya know, you’d think folks’d be cool ‘bout it by now.”

“Cool about what? What do you mean?”

“Bertie was kinda snickerin’ like a young’un just now,” said the hunter, moving his fingers slowly down the cleft of Paul’s muscular buttocks and whispering into the scout’s ear. “It ain’t like folks don’t know we’re fuckin’, right? I mean they gotta hear how loud ya get, when my cock’s deep inside ya, and yer yellin’ out my name and shit.”

“Oh really???” Paul said, the shock of laughter evident in his tone. “And I don’t suppose they know when it’s you begging all ‘Harder! Yes! YES! Cum in me, Paul!’” He turned around to face the strapping hunter, clearly enjoying he big man’s touch, and picked up the evergreen-smelling body wash Daryl loved from the small window sill in the stall. 

Daryl shrugged. “Might be that too,” he acquiesced and kissed his little ninja. “I mean, just a lil’ bit.” He moved in closed to rub his hips into his little ninja’s while Paul started to wash his face gently. “’Sides, I like yelling all that out to you. And they can all hear it loud and clear, ‘cause I love you. And I think you might have to make me say ‘HARDER! YES! CUM IN ME, PAUL!!!’ again real soon.”

Paul laughed and kissed him back. “It’d be my pleasure to,” he mused then got serious and continued, “because I love you too.” They kissed again, then Paul reached for the soap bottle while Daryl leaned over to rinse his face in the lukewarm spray.

As Paul started to run his soapy hands and loofa over Daryl’s chest revelation hit him, his eyes grew wide, and he suddenly burst out in laughter. “Oh, shit, baby!” He stared at Daryl’s chest and stomach. Daryl was perplexed; he followed Paul’s gaze down his chest and stomach. Paul had apparently found the source of Bertie’s earlier amusement; Daryl was covered profusely with the dried yet undeniable evidence of his ability to make Paul cum from their first round of last night when Paul had ridden him while Daryl had stroked him to a furious completion. He remembered Paul had fired off like a sprinkler, and they had been too tired to get up at the time. Evidently, he had missed that in his clean-up efforts, the perils of doing so in the dark.

“Oh, goddammit,” he lamented, shaking his head. At this point he could only imagine what a man-slut he must have looked like to Bertie. His face and ears flushed crimson.

“Hey!” Paul leaned close and kissed him on the lips, then on his jawline, on his neck, in the hollow of his throat, and on his soapy chest. “No need to be embarrassed. At least it’s not like that time back at your place in Alexandria when—“

“Yeah, I was there! I ‘member it all too well!” Daryl interrupted, still red as a beet root. He distinctly recollected that moment and had no doubt it would be brought up again and again at public gatherings.

Daryl wrapped his colossal arms around his man and held him close under the spray, looking deep into Paul’s brilliant eyes. 

“Ya know ya done ruined me,” said Daryl. It was definitely not a question; it was a statement of fact as serious as a leukemia diagnosis.

“Mmhmm,” Paul hummed in affirmation and smirked. “I can live with that.” He opened the peppermint shampoo, squeezed some out, and began to massage it through Daryl’s hair. Daryl let him go right ahead with his lips in a slight yet highly satisfied smile.

They finished showering, quickly brushed their teeth, and put on fresh clothes for the day. Once their boots, belts, knives, and sidearm were in place (Maggie had insisted that everyone carry one now), the pair headed out the door. As they were starting down the steps of their little trailer on their way to grab breakfast in the Barrington House kitchens, Paul put his hand on Daryl’s shoulder and stopped him, turning the hunter back to face him fully. 

“Just so we’re clear, Daryl Dixon, I am _very proud_ to be the one you want to make scream out your name.”

Daryl nodded in total seriousness, his chest swelling a bit, straining the sleeveless shirt beneath the leather vest. The couple descended the wooden steps of the trailer and walked hand-in-hand across the yard to the backdoor of the kitchen.

 

****

 

Daryl told himself to slow down. There was really no rush to scarf it all down, and he didn’t need Paul to remind him to do so. Besides, the eggs and grits were heavenly, and he wanted to prolong the experience. 

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” said Bertie. “Mrs. Maitlin told me that was the last of the biscuit mix.”

“We’ll add it to tomorrow’s Big Run list,” said Jesus. 

Maggie Rhee came in on the tail end of the conversation, nodding at Bertie who poured her a glass of canned fruit juice. 

“Hey, Jesus!” she smiled and leaned down to kiss Paul’s cheek. 

“Good morning, Maggie!” Paul replied around a hot spoonful of grits. 

_It’s just like they grew up together._ He’d have loved the whole Greene family.

“Hey, bubba!” she said as she did the same to Daryl, running his hand over his damp hair.

Daryl reached up and shoved half a biscuit covered in orange marmalade into her mouth. 

“Ooh! Thanks!” she said as she managed to take the biscuit. 

“When’re folks gettin’ here?” asked Daryl.

Maggie held up a finger to pause while she chewed and swallowed, then answered, “The Big Run teams will be here later this afternoon; we had agreed on a time of 5:00, but hopefully they’ll all be here well before sunset. Dinner’s at 6:00, and your meeting’s at 7:00.” 

“It’ll be 7:30 more’n likely,” Daryl groused.

They all knew that getting multiple community teams to the starting point before sunset meant that there was less chance of an incident happening due to unfamiliar faces showing up in the dark. And after the fall and subsequent raid of the Sanctuary, the Hilltop now possessed more than spears and arrows in terms of firepower and defenses. The .50-caliber turret at the main gate was more than formidable.

“All five communities have folks going on this run: Alexandria, the Kingdom, Oceanside, the Sanctuary, and us,” Maggie reminded. “There may even be some of the Strays.”

Daryl rankled a bit at the mention of the Sanctuary. Paul didn’t call it out by eyeing him. Instead, Daryl felt the young man’s foot slip easily behind his calf like he had been born that way. It was instantly comforting. He looked at Paul for a second, and when he caught the scout’s eye, he half-winked back. Anyone else would have missed it, but he knew Paul had seen.

“We have it set up so every team will have two members from each community. This is a chance for everybody to work together and all of it to be on the up and up. No surprises, no bullshit. Just securing what we all need and getting it distributed fairly,” said Maggie. 

Her voice held a confidence that reminded Daryl of her father. Hershel Greene had been a good man, he had loved his family, and eventually, he had become a father figure to the Atlanta survivors as a whole. Daryl was sure that if the old patriarch had lived, he’d have had a father of his own choosing, one who loved him regardless of his past or who he slept with, one who only wanted to share wisdom, laughter, and joy rather than ignorance, misery, and rage. As if tuned into his thoughts, the toe of Paul’s boot rubbed his calf muscle again. This time, the eyes—those magnificent eyes the color of a tropical lagoon—were looking back at into his, accompanied by a slight smile that exuded confidence of purpose and the promise of some very hot, very nasty activities later on.

_FUCK YOU, Will Dixon, you hateful sonofabitch! If this man—this beautiful man who loves me—if he had been there when you raised your hateful hand at me, he’d have stomped your fucking guts out! And that’s the gospel truth according to Jesus! HA! I wish you were alive so we could suck each other’s big fucking dicks on your shitty dining room table right there in front of you during goddamn Thanksgiving dinner! Fucker._

He was snapped back to the sound of Maggie’s next words.

“When they get here, we need you guys to make sure they understand their routes and the rules,” she said. “A lot of people‘ve been askin’ specifically to run with you two.”

Jesus peered across at Daryl. The hunter nodded back to him and looked back to Maggie. 

“We think each Big Run team needs leadership from a different community,” Paul said. “But like we agreed early on, no official community leaders. They stay back behind the scenes and handle their own area, see to each one’s daily operations.”

Maggie nodded and looked thoughtful, her gaze slipping to the corner of the table as she pondered and sipped the juice.

“Not arguin’ that. It still makes sense to me,” she nodded. “Recommendations?”

“Carol and Dianne,” said Daryl. “’Chonne and Aaron.”

“Tara and Cyndie,” added Paul. 

Tara had moved to Oceanside after the whole Dwight situation. Rick hadn’t hold it against her; no one had. But she had agonized over the whole deal and needed a new start for herself, particularly after the losses of Denise, Glenn, and her extended family. Cyndie and the Oceanside community had been that new beginning for her, and she had found a place and purpose there. Daryl and Paul were really proud of her.

“Eugene and what’s-his-name,” growled Daryl. 

“Dillon,” smirked Paul. 

“Whatever,” Daryl said, rolling his eyes. He knew the guy had tried to suck up to Paul (among other things) while he was a prisoner here at Hilltop. He also knew that Paul had no interest whatsoever in the former Negan bootlicker, but letting go of his burning hatred for Saviors was an ongoing feat. As far as Daryl was concerned, he was still processing.

“Okay, then,” Maggie said. “You guys make sure all our vehicles are ready and gassed up, everybody’s packed and loaded, and—.“ She stopped and shook her head. “I know you know what to do. Last thing I want to do is to micro-manage y’all.”

“Appreciate it. And, we get to play with Lil Hellraiser ‘fore we go,” Daryl said, looking back over at Maggie with his jaw stuck out and lips in a tight line that allowed for no debate.

“When _Hershel Jr_ wakes up, and gets fed, I will hand him over to his Uncle Daryl and Uncle Jesus,” she assured them. Maggie’s smile gave away the fact that she really didn’t mind Daryl’s new nickname for the baby. When he was awake and cranky, that infant had a serious set of lungs on him. Daryl had let no grass grow underfoot before he’d christened the baby boy accordingly.

Daryl grunted his assent to Maggie. When Paul caught his stormy blue eyes through his fringe, smiling at the hunter, Daryl was unable to do anything but smile right back. Under the table, he squeezed his legs together around Paul’s. 

Looking at the time, Maggie sighed, “Well, I’m a busy girl now—time to go express. I can’t tell you how thoughtful it was for you guys to bring that milking set on the last run. But my poor boobs…” 

Daryl suddenly looked at her like she had spit on the table.

“What?” Maggie asked. “Well, they ache. And now I need bigger bras.”

“We’ll try to find some specialty bras. Just let me know the new size,” said Jesus. 

“Oh my god, that’d be wonderful! But, hey,” Maggie added, “if they’ve got underwire, can you try to find some that’re not gonna be cutting into my boobs?”

“Cuttin’ yer boobs??? What the fuck is under—“ Daryl started asking. The redneck looked genuinely curious.

“We got it!” said Paul. Daryl just stopped mid question.

“Mmhmm. Jesus saves!” said Maggie, kissing them each on the head and taking her juice with her back out of the kitchen.

“Yeah,” Daryl said. Paul looked back across the table, their locked eyes conveying everything silently. “He sure does. Every time.” 

Paul leaned over the table and kissed Daryl on the lips. Daryl spoke into the kiss, “But, just ‘cause I’m braggin’ on ya don’t mean you get ta hold the baby first.” 

“That’s cold, bubba!” yelled Maggie from the other room, obviously having overheard the hunter’s quip.

“’Drink ya juice, Shelby!’” Daryl hollered back over his shoulder before continuing to snicker and kiss his little ninja. Maggie’s resulting laughter could be heard throughout Barrington House. She would never in a million years have guessed that Daryl Dixon had ever seen Steel Magnolias, much less could quote a line.

The rest of the morning was spent checking weapons, packing necessities, and ensuring that the vehicles were prepped. Daryl’s crossbow, their respective knives, and guns were serviced and readied. He gathered the finished bolts he had worked on with Earl Sutton’s help and made a mental note to bring their friend and neighborhood blacksmith any significant tools of note from the run.

After lunch, Daryl stood up from the top step of the front porch of Barrington House where he, Paul, Mandy, Tammy, Freddie, Macy, Eduardo, Dante, and Earl had been reviewing the handwritten copies of the Big Run Lists that had been compiled. He put out his cigarette and flicked the crushed butt into the old, battered, antique spittoon strategically hidden behind one of the columns. Maggie had found the wide-mouthed brass bucket up in the attic and threatened Daryl to _“see what happens”_ if he kept flicking butts in the yard in front of Barrington. He had quickly reminded her that _“Gregory don’t live here no more.”_

Paul touched his elbow. Turning back, he saw Lil Hellraiser being brought out onto the front porch of Barrington House, and the little booger was indeed his father’s son. It was hard to believe he was already four months old. Maggie had him wrapped up in a white blanket with cartoon animals printed on it and soft, colored silicone teething pads at each corner. Daryl and Jesus had found it several months before while hiding away from a Savior war party. It was not so great for swaddling, but when teething time came, it would be a godsend. Glenn would have loved it.

Maggie handed the baby over to the brawny redneck who settled the infant into the crook of his left elbow with practiced ease. Paul and Maggie had had conversations about Daryl’s apparent talent with babies. Daryl walked in the door of the old mansion and pulled an antique rocker into the center of the foyer where there would be a decent breeze. Then, he sat down and rocked easy with Hershel Jr, even singing to him softly. Daryl never claimed to be the greatest singer, but Judith never complained so he figured he knew his audience pretty well. He even avoided the old lullabies with racist undertones he had grown up on, singing some quiet country ballads and his rock favorites with a much slower, less screaming flair. 

He also liked to get Paul to sing to the little ones. Paul had a voice like a rock star, and although he could be shy about singing for groups, he didn’t mind singing for the children and even taught them songs here at Hilltop and when he visited the Kingdom. The scout could even play the guitar pretty well. 

Daryl wished Eric had lived. He knew how well the man could cook, and he had heard Eric play the piano. He had been fucking amazing! He had even had an opportunity to play at some fancy art college in New York City called Juilliard. Daryl had never heard of it, but Michonne had been very impressed and said it was one of the best music schools in the world. Daryl missed his friend. As he rocked the baby boy, he thought about Aaron, who was still having a difficult time now that his partner was gone. He had gone forth and helped his friend find the walker that once had been Eric, put him to rest, and bury him back at Alexandria. It was one of the saddest days of his life, but it was not the only one to be certain.

_Now Aaron’s a single father and the best thing to ever happen to sweet little Gracie-girl. By god, if there’s somebody for me, Aaron sure as hell deserves another chance at bat._

The baby boy snored on, seeming to be lulled by the rumble of sound from Daryl’s deep chest and his basso voice as he would occasionally tell the child: that he had the best Mama in the world; that his Daddy was still with him in spirit to guide him; that he was going to be surrounded by friends and family who would teach him everything he would ever need to know; and that he would always be loved and have a home. It was more important than ever to not only know these things, but to believe in them in this new world; that belief could be the difference between life—and quality thereof—and death.

Shouts from the gate announced the arrival of the first of the Big Run teams. As the gates opened, he saw the familiar sports gear armoring of the Kingdom’s scouts. 

“Cookie time!” Paul said, grinning and bouncing on his toes like a kid at a candy store. 

“She cain’t have ‘im ‘til my time’s up. Cookies or no damn cookies!” Daryl stated, still rocking the baby and nodding down at him. “Ain’t that right, lil’ man?” 

Paul knelt down beside the chair as Daryl slowed to a standstill. He watched as his man leaned in and kissed the baby’s jet black hair, the baby stirring briefly as the whiskers tickled his head. 

“Don’t let him fool you, Hershey Kiss,” Paul whispered. “He’s scared of Aunt Carol, too.”


	2. You're My Miracle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Big Run teams start to gather at the Hilltop and catch up with each other, and Daryl shows Jesus some private attention.

When the Kingdom’s runner teams had arrived, Carol had made her way around with dozens of treats for the Hilltop folks. Jerry had even shared from his own extra-large container of goodies, laughing and catching up with some of his friends after what he’d considered far too long, even though he’d been by with Carol and Ezekiel just three weeks prior when the community leaders were planning out the Big Run. After leaving him to settle in their folks, Carol had made a beeline to the kitchen. Sharing her mouthwatering cookies, cakes, and assorted delights always ensured her a seat with the best gossip and the freshest coffee. Daryl knew that she had found plenty of both while Paul and he had been in the foyer rocking the baby. When the baby had started getting hungry, they gave Lil Hellraiser back over to Maggie. 

“What kinda candy-ass nickname is ‘Hershey Kiss?’”

“Candy-ass? Really?” Paul scoffed as they walked into the kitchen to join Carol. One look at Daryl’s smirk revealed that the hunter was only jerking his chain. 

He got further confirmation when Daryl pulled him close, letting his arms encircle Paul’s slim waist, hands grabbing the mounds of his little ninja’s perky ass, muttering, “S’all good. Y’know how much I like eatin’ sweet stuff.” 

“Mmm… I sure do,” Paul replied. His leer was evident, and it made Daryl chuckle. He squeezed that perky ass then swatted Paul’s left ass cheek as they broke apart. 

Apparently, gossip hour was over by the time the pair had made it into the kitchen to greet Carol. When they turned to the large staff dining table, Carol was waiting with a pristine, all-knowing smile plastered to her face that said she had heard the couple’s entire exchange. Daryl wasn’t surprised by this in the least. She knew him better than anyone except Paul, and he knew she was completely thrilled that the two were ass-over-tea-kettle-crazy for each other.

“Open up, Pookie!” commanded Carol as she strode past the two, a large, rectangular plastic container in hand, practically shoving a cookie into Daryl’s mouth. She smiled sweetly as she repeated the action, hugging Paul first and then Daryl. The cookies smelled incredibly good and tasted even better. There was something he couldn’t make out in them. Not raisins, but some other dried fruit. They were real sweet too, but with a slight salty quality outside. He could taste the chopped, toasted pecans she had put into the cookies. Carol knew his sweet tooth well—although for actual food rather than for the delights of Jesus; that was why she had been so amused by hearing his statement. The lady was undeniably family, sometimes too nosy for her own good, and she was also one of the best damn cooks Daryl Dixon had ever met. Somehow, she had made a cookie that was crunchy outside and incredibly chewy and sweet inside. And, she did it all without going to a damn Kroger, Publix, or the shitty Food Depot where he and Merle had shopped—and _shoplifted_ , if he were being perfectly candid.

_She coulda made a fucking mint on that food channel, showing dumbasses like me how to cook more’n deer, critters, and scrambled eggs._

“Well, damn!” Daryl exclaimed. “What are _these_?” He continued chewing on the bite of his cookie, shoving the rest into his mouth before the first bite had even been swallowed.

“Date-Nut cookies,” replied Carol, still grinning along as she poured cups of coffee for the three of them. “My grandmother used to make them around Thanksgiving and Christmas. Jerry’s group found the dried dates and nuts a couple of months ago at a cereal factory. Everything was vacuum packed, so they were still good. I just put them to good use. It’s an easy recipe.”

“Oh, dear god! Carol, on behalf of all of us here at Hilltop, but especially those of us in this kitchen right now, thank you so much for making these! How’d you make ‘em crunchy _and_ chewy?” asked Paul, who was gratefully accepting the coffee mug she handed him and was now moaning obscenely with each bite.

Carol laughed and placed hers and Daryl’s steaming cups onto the table. “It’s a proprietary secret, but I know where the two of you live, so I guess I’ll share my tricks this one time,” she joked. “I roll them in crushed corn flakes just before I bake them. I’m glad you like ‘em!”

“Gimme another’n,” Daryl demanded around a bite of cookie. “I think the one I had was defective. Lemme try a good one this time just to be sure.”

“Y’know, I read the menu at Terminus. I think I could replicate it,” she quipped, then took a sip of her coffee, her eyes peering down mischievous daggers at Daryl. He just shrugged and reached for another cookie.

“Eww,” said Jesus. “I’ll pass on that one. I heard about that place. You guys were almost the ‘Catch of the Day.’”

“I’d be tough as shoe leather! Give ya the damn belly ache, woman!” Daryl joked back.

Carol ruffled the hunter’s hair, leaned over to smell it, smelled it again, then sat down with her cup of coffee. Daryl jerked his head away playfully, scoffed, and rolled his eyes while Carol turned to Paul, smiled with mischief, and slid the carrier tray of her fresh cookies toward the scout. This exchange was not lost on Daryl.

“Damn, woman! I washed. Ya ain’t gotta be on my ass,” groused Daryl playfully. “But you need to understand sump’n: _**we’re men**_. Okay? We get up, and get hard, and go out, and just do it! Every day!” Paul’s eyes went wide when he caught the slip of the tongue.

“Oh, you’re right, Pookie,” Carol replied, winking at Jesus, who was turning a bit red himself. Then clearing her throat, and with a serious tone, she said, “I’m sure it’s a religious experience when you two get hard. And, I’m certainly not the one on your ass.” 

Daryl’s jaw dropped to the floor. He had completely put both feet in his mouth to the knees. His ears immediately burned red, and he hid his face in his palms. 

“Yep, you really threw that one right across the plate there,” Jesus declared, laughing out loud. “And it’s out of the park! Grand Slam for Carol Peletier!” his own face a pretty shade of pink.

Carol smiled and handed Daryl a cookie which he took and ate as soon as he could compose himself. 

“Yeah, that was on me,” Daryl admitted.

“Bertie thought so too,” Carol agreed, her face a mask of composure as she took another sip of her coffee. Paul’s eyes shot open as he gasped in surprise.

“Ah, FUCK ME!” Daryl yelled, putting his head down on the table as his embarrassment swelled again. 

“And now you’re just making it way too easy,” Carol laughed.

“Oh goddamnit,” Daryl griped. He couldn’t help but started laughing at himself.

Once the floodgates were opened, the trio laughed and ragged on each other for the next hour. Carol even blushed furiously herself when the conversation swayed against her, and the guys began to ask more detailed questions about her own budding romance with King Ezekiel. 

_Is there gonna be a royal wedding? Does his carpet match the curtains? Or does he have hardwood floors? Do you have to call everything by Shakespearean terms? Forsooth, Lady Carol! Let us go hither and break-eth bad with some “Hey, Nonny Nonny!”_

By the end of the conversation all three of them had sore diaphragms from laughing so hard. Maggie returned with the baby at the tail end of the exchange just as they were wiping tears from their eyes and occasionally rekindling latent bursts of laughter. When Hilltop’s leader had been let in on all the jokes, downed a few cookies and a cup of coffee for herself, and they were again composed, Maggie handed the baby over to Carol. Hershel Jr peeked out from his blanket for a brief while to be patted until he could burp and finally fall back to sleep in Carol’s arms. Daryl knew that his friend missed being a mom. He was sure she’d have only gotten better at it since her own abusive, piece-of-shit husband had been killed back at the quarry camp outside of Atlanta. 

_Shouldn’t have given up so easy._

Seemingly out of nowhere, Carol patted the back of his hand and shook her head. 

“Don’t. I’m good,” Carol said as if she could read his thoughts. “And, as for me and Ezekiel, and the future, and family, who knows?” she shrugged, then she kissed Hershel Jr’s cheek and took a cloth to wipe up where he had spit up a bit upon the towel on her shoulder. Her eyes were wet with more tears, and she blinked them back as she looked back to her friends. “There are miracles happening around us every day.”

Maggie stood between Jesus and Daryl, placed her hands on each of their shoulders and squeezed. “You never said a truer word, my friend. I see miracles every day.”

Daryl swallowed and looked over at Paul’s hand. He reached over and took it, rubbing his thumb across Paul’s knuckles, then he looked up, locking his storm blue eyes with Paul’s gorgeous orbs. No doubt, no hesitation, no trepidation.

“You’re my miracle.” 

“Damn it, Daryl,” Paul exhaled as his face scrunched up to react with loving tears. The archer had hit dead center once again. 

There were no dry eyes or empty arms any longer in the kitchen of Barrington House. 

 

****

 

The chimes and shouts from the watchtowers at the main gate rang out brightly for the second time that day. A group composed of two cars and an old U-Haul moving truck pulled up to the parking field just outside. Several walkers had made their way out of the woods, shambling slowly towards the gates. They had apparently detected the noises resulting from the new arrivals. 

Daryl, Paul, Enid, Carol, and Jerry had made their way to the open gate and outside to follow Eduardo and Sara. Once the vehicles parked, several members of the Alexandria community emerged. Daryl saw Rosita climb out of the passenger side of the older Buick that had been in the lead. She immediately took stock of her surroundings as did the man stepping out of the driver’s seat. Daryl nodded to Aaron and pointed out the nearest threats.

Aaron nodded back in acknowledgement, pulled his large hunting knife, and stepped up to the first walker. His knife sunk deep into the walker’s temple, twisted and retracted as she dropped to the ground. She did not look as old as some other walkers, so he whistled to Rosita who stood by the corpse, intending to loot it for the clothing and any useful items. Rosita watched with pistol drawn as Aaron dropped two more walkers, cleaned his blade, and returned to help her.

Eduardo’s spear sunk into another walker’s skull, and Sara’s claw hammer brained the last one. They peered around the edge of the wood to keep watch while the Alexandrians unloaded their necessities. Everyone worked quickly to check over the bodies, remove anything useful, and drag the remains over the slat cart to be carried off the cremation pit. 

Daryl and Paul drew their blades and stepped out to watch over the new arrivals. Aaron nodded toward the car, and Paul stepped over to open the door. “Well, hey sweet girl!” he said, sheathing his blade, removing the seatbelt, and taking the baby and car seat/basket out. He stopped to make sure her little pink blanket was still tucked, then shouldered her baby bag and closed the car door. 

Michonne had left the drivers’ seat of the U-Haul truck, grabbed her katana, and now stood shaking hands with Kal and Dante at the gate. A guy named—what the hell was his name?—Eddie? Teddy? Whatever. He was gathering some things from the back of the U-Haul that apparently Rick had sent for the Hilltop. Rosita and Aaron, had a couple of new people with them, too; Daryl thought he had seen this particular pair—a guy and a girl—during his brief stay at the Kingdom. 

There had been some relocations of citizens among all of the communities. Daryl understood completely; after all, he was now at Hilltop with Paul, Carol was at the Kingdom, and Morgan, well, he had decided to go out west seeing as there was apparently no government extension from the D.C. and he was trying to shed his own demons. That was impossible for him while the Saviors were alive. Some couldn’t stand the decision to imprison Negan nor that he lived in their community; regardless of his confinement status, his very proximity resulted in understandably heightened anxiety levels for some in Alexandria. Many from the Sanctuary who were workers had fled the moment it was possible realizing the new opportunity to make a life away from the rigid caste system in which they had been subjugated. Other folks who had lost friends and loved ones couldn’t bear to be without them in that same space any longer. They needed new environments away from painful memories. And some, like several women from Oceanside, had found the chance to start new relationships and families. 

He stepped up to Michonne and hugged her neck. She kissed him on the cheek and her infectious smile got him before he could rein in his own. Without missing a beat, she pulled Jesus in to give him the same treatment.

“It’s so good to see you guys!” she said. She was practically beaming. “I have got a really good feeling about this run. I think it will do more to bring us all together than anything since Negan’s capture and the Accord being signed. This was your idea, Jesus, and it’s a good one. We have so much to gain.”

Paul shrugged modestly, shifting little Miss Gracie’s basket to the other hand. “It just seems like a logical conclusion. I mean, if we’re all working together now, we avoid being in competition later. That can help us forge better bonds rather than creating friction and conflict.”

“It’s the right step,” agreed Rosita as she walked up with Aaron and company. She hugged Paul tightly. He kissed Rosita’s cheek at the slight scar that canker-cunt Arat had left. The last look on that skank’s face had been priceless. 

_Evil bitch sure hadn’t expected that!_

“And, it gives us all something positive to focus on,” Aaron interjected. His tone sounded upbeat, but both Daryl and Paul could read his body language; he was still grieving deeply. They each hugged him in turn. 

“Y’all come on in, get sump’n ta eat, get settled in,” said Daryl. “There’ll be a meeting tonight to go over everything for the Run after everybody else gets here.”

“Who’re we still waiting on?” asked Michonne as they grabbed their gear and walked toward Barrington House.

“The Sanctuary and Oceanside,” answered Jesus. “C’mon! Carol brought a fuck-ton of cookies!”

There was a brief moment when the group stopped and exchanged knowing looks. Jesus took off at a sprint that reminded Daryl distinctly of another day once upon a time in a pasture a few counties over. Daryl watched his man sprinting ahead and licked his lower lip. 

_Goddamn, that_ ass! _And it's mine, all mine, by god! Hell yeah!!!_

“Oh, hell yeah!” Michonne yelled, dropping her things and taking off at a run, her action snapping Daryl back into the moment. 

“No fair! You already had yours!” cried Rosita, also abandoning her things and dashing after. 

Aaron glanced over at Daryl who was looking a bit sheepish. “Man, they really are some bomb-ass cookies,” the hunter admitted. They two men stared at each other for another beat, then at the sleeping baby.

“Hey, Enid!” they both cried in unison. 

The girl came rushing over, a smile brightening her face. “Gracie’s here!”

“Yeah, and she really wants to see you!” Aaron said. “Could you?”

“Oh, sure!” Enid said, taking the baby carrier helpfully.

“And, these’re her stuff and thangs,” said Daryl, handing off the baby bag.

“Oh, no problem! I’ll just put them in—“

The two men tore out at break-neck speed, racing each other to the kitchen of Barrington House and laughing as they heard Enid cry out behind them.

“Okay, DICK MOVE, guys!”

 

****

 

“Acorns and beets?”

“Acorns and beets,” parroted Tara, enjoying the Date-Nut cookies with Cyndie, who was rapidly becoming a true believer in the religion that was Carol’s cookies. The two had arrived with their contingent not long after the Alexandrians, and Tara had wasted no time in tackling her family members. Daryl was relieved that the young woman had found love again. He’d been worried that she’d have been like him—like he used to be, before _his_ miracle. 

“They were so good, and like, Valentine’s Day cute, y’know?” Tara continued. “I mean, because the beets made them sweet, and they made them red, like how Daryl’s face and ears used to get whenever any of us caught him staring at Jesus.”

“Well, I am definitely impressed!” Cyndie stated.

Daryl smirked and grabbed Tara’s hand, breaking off a piece of cookie, and eating it. Sibling antics were more prevalent than ever.

“Hey!” Tara whined. “I’m telling Jesus!”

“Trust me, he knows all the bad shit I done,” Daryl shot back, then he turned to Cyndie and winked. “But yeah, them cookies were red as mine and Merle’s necks.” He reached up and patted the back of his own neck in mocking acknowledgement of his backwoods upbringing.

“Really?” asked Cyndie. She turned to Carol. “Carol, can you please come to Oceanside and teach the cooks how to make something other than fish?”

Carol smiled back and nodded. “Of course! And you folks are always welcome to come by the Kingdom. Before you leave, I’ll show you how to make our famous breakfast cobbler.”

She bent down to open the door of the massive industrial oven to check on the baked beans that were cooking away in two large, deep serving pans covered with aluminum foil. Daryl still appreciated how easily Carol fit into any kitchen or hearth. He remembered that she had cooked over an open flame with chicken wire fencing for a grill in the time between abandoning the Greene Farm and finding the prison. Hell, she had cooked dog on a spit on the side of the road just two days before they arrived in Alexandria. And he’d proudly admit that Carol’s “mutt special” beat the shit out of eating raw earthworms any damn day of the week.

“Oh, breakfast cobbler is _awesome_!” Tara gasped. “We’ll all be as big as Jerry, but we’ll be happy!”

Cyndie laughed and smiled back at her girlfriend. 

“As for Daryl turning red, it takes more than getting caught staring at Paul,” Carol said. “Just ask Bertie.”

“Hey, woman! That’s enough gabbin’!” Daryl interrupted, starting to brighten. “Everybody go make sure all your shit is ready to go tomorrow at daybreak. We meet in the main office tonight at seb’n-thirty to go over the Big Run.”

“Oh, there is definitely a story there,” Tara said to Cyndie, taking another cookie for each of them and smirking at Daryl as they headed out. “Let’s go find Bertie.”

Daryl shook his head, goodheartedly putting up with the amusement of his friends and family at his (and Paul’s) expense. Once, he’d have been insulted or fighting mad. Now, he saw the love behind the jests. 

While the others were making their last rounds and Paul and Maggie were passing around Lil Hellraiser, Daryl and Carol stepped out back to have a smoke. They walked out back to find the head cook and chief laundress enjoying a quiet moment of their own. The smell of grilled pork was rolling over them as they watched over three large smoker grills. Mrs. Maitlin smiled and waved them on over to the Adirondack chairs near the barbecue pit. Tammy handed the lighter wand they used for the grills over to Carol.

Daryl pointed to the grills, “Is that the result of Paul savin’ my life day before yesterday?”

“You know it! Been slow cookin’ him all day. Should have plenty of barbecue to go around for tonight,” said Mrs. Maitlin. “Carol, thanks for the cereal, the nuts, and the raisins! Wherever did you guys find a cereal factory?”

“Outside of Wrensboro, just across the West Virginia line. About eighty-five miles other side of Alexandria,” Carol answered. “And you are very, very welcome, my friend.”

“Well, I hope this Big Run thing ends up being just as fruitful,” said Tammy. “Daryl, that man of yours deserves a medal! You be sweet to him, you hear me?”

“Yes’um,” Daryl said. Tammy wasn’t that much older than Daryl, maybe ten or so years, but her tone and station in his mind always brought out his good manners concerning those he would have considered his seniors, at least from back when he was growing up. Daryl knew she hadn’t really meant for her words to come across as authoritative, but nevertheless, he looked her dead in the eyes. “I promise. I’ma do my best to be good to ‘im. God only knows what he sees in a backwoods, trailer trash, no-count redneck like me, but I sure as hell don’t wanna fuck this up, ya know?”

Carol was quiet as she flicked the ash off of her cigarette. With her free hand she rubbed Daryl’s back. He knew the meaning. His words were not truly meant to be self-deprecating, but there were lingering hints from a time long ago before others like Carol had held the proverbial mirror up to his face.

_You’re just as good as them._

“Oh, son,” said Mrs. Maitlin. “I don’t know who you were before all this, and honestly, I don’t care, but just listen for a second to an old woman who has seen it, done it, and been there: There is a clear shortage of men who are as good as the two of you are. You both mean so much to all of us here and to plenty of folks outside these walls too. You both _matter_ , and you’re both good people in this world full of ugly. As long as you fellows know how precious you are to each other, then whatever bullshit was in the past will never be a problem in your future.”

Daryl nodded, taking in the woman’s obvious wisdom while blinking back the start of tears. He knew both women practically worship Paul, and hearing that they held him in high esteem actually felt pretty nice. 

“Yes’um. Y’all ‘bout ready to take up some pig?”

“Yep,” said Mrs. Maitlin. “Gonna cut up that cabbage and stir it into slaw as soon as I get up from here.”

“I’ll help!” declared Carol as she stubbed her cigarette out into an old cut-glass ashtray. 

“Great!” said Mrs. Maitlin. “Son, you help Tammy get that all boar up and cover it to let it rest. That’ll give us time to finish up the rest.”

“The beans are ready, and I turned the oven off and left them in to stay warm,” said Carol.

“God, I love it when you’re here, sweetie,” laughed Mrs. Maitlin. “Hey, let me show you my new vegan mayo recipe I’m using. Doesn’t need refrigeration!”

“That’s handy!” replied Carol as the two walked back in.

Daryl turned back to Tammy as she opened the grills. “I’ve lined that big cooler with foil, so if you’ll set it down over here, we can put all this in and just close it up to let it rest.”

“This ain’t your first rodeo, huh?” Daryl asked, grinning back at the sly laundress.

“Hell, it works, right?” she laughed.

They loaded up the cooler, and in a most impressive display of strength, Daryl lifted it up all by himself and toted it inside to sit it on the back counter in the prep room. Tammy turned to him before he could go back into the main kitchen.

“Hey, wait a second. I want you and Jesus to leave me all—and I mean _all_ —your clothes, sheets, bedding, blankets— _everything_ , while you fellas are gone,” ordered Tammy, wagging her index finger pointedly. “I know you guys can do them yourselves—that’s never been in question. But, with all this extra going on, I don’t want you boys to have to come back and not have any clean clothes, not to mention being too tired to scrub them yourselves. Then, you’d have to spend another day in something filthy. I appreciate you both and all that you do for everyone here. So please, let me do this, all right? No trailer fixing trade-outs on this, okay? Run get ‘em for me now! Go on!” 

It was clear that the woman wasn’t going to take no for an answer, so Daryl smiled back and nodded. Without another word, she handed him two large laundry baskets from the back counter and sent him over to his and Paul’s trailer. Daryl chuckled to himself when he thought about Tammy’s offer. He’d come to respect and appreciate the woman in short order because she had been one of the first of Hilltop’s residents to show him the same courtesy. Mrs. Maitlin had too. Others had followed in suit one-by-one until he’d felt more at home here than in Alexandria. Of course, he had been quick to recognize that his real home would always be wherever Paul was. 

Daryl crossed the yard, ducked into their trailer, and went over to the two clothes hampers against the wall at the door of the bathroom. He emptied one into one of the baskets, grabbed up the bedding, and strolled back out and over to the laundry room of Barrington House. He had to admire the fact that he and Paul were actually very neat; a little clutter in such a small place could become hazardous, not to mention annoying, and the scout had been determined that he would never let little things annoy his hunter. Daryl was making his second trip to gather the remainder of their clothes, thinking all the while about how Paul would be really happy to have Tammy’s help. 

Speaking of his little ninja, Daryl stepped back inside the room again and smiled when he found Paul already filling the second laundry basket. When he saw Daryl enter, the look on his perplexed yet gorgeous face was priceless. 

“Lemme guess,” the hunter said with a knowing grin. “Tammy?”

“None other!” replied the scout as he was piecing things together. Paul tilted his head and asked, “Did you get all my stuff and our bedding already? Or have we been robbed?”

“Yeah to the first,” Daryl stated. “Wanted to make sure yers got done.” The archer shrugged a little sheepishly and automatically brought his thumbnail up to his mouth. He immediately caught himself in mid-motion, brought his arm back to his side, and hooked his thumb in the fifth pocket of his jeans. There was no reason to be bashful about doing something for someone you love.

Paul put down the basket and walked over to take his man’s face in his hands. Daryl lowered his head down to let Paul slot their lips together in a slow, unhurried kiss. Warmth radiated in his chest as Daryl sucked first on Paul’s lower lip and then invited the man’s tongue to sport with his own. When they finally came up for air, they stood nose to nose with foreheads touching. 

“We’ve been like, extra-sappy today, huh?” asked the scout.

“Mmhmm,” Daryl grunted. Paul gave a shivering breath. They both leaned their heads back to look into each other’s face. “But, I ain’t mad at it. Just ‘cause it’s corny or sappy don’t mean it ain’t true.”

“I never thought I’d get to have _this_ , have _you_.” Paul’s eyes were intense and wet, his icy irises shining brightly. “Just some orphan throwaway that nobody wanted, not unless they could use me. No place in the world, no relatives, no home, no attachments, but I have never wanted _anyone_ —wanted this, what we have—like I want _you_.”

“Hey! Don’t ya fret none,” Daryl commanded. “Ya know I’m like super glue, right? Ya fuck with me, ya stuck with me!” The brawny man’s lips curved into a grin, trying to chip away any melancholy or doubt from Paul’s mind.

Paul chuckled, “That sounds like you through and through.” The little ninja became more serious again. “I know we haven’t always seen eye-to-eye, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be worthy enough to deserve you, but I swear to you: I’ll never stop trying.”

“Don’t think about what was. Think about what _will be_ , what we make _together_ ,” Daryl said, his muscular, sculpted arms pulling his man in closer. “Paul, I ain’t whole, I ain’t— _complete_ , if you ain’t with me.”

Paul smiled back, and Daryl locked their lips together again, pressing down hard enough to draw a grunt from his little ninja. He sucked Paul’s lower lip into his mouth over and over, hands working their way under the button down shirt, allowing fingers to tease at the scout’s hips and the waistline of his tactical pants. Paul reached his arms up around mountainous shoulders to card his fingers through his man’s hair, a wave of Daryl’s scent and that peppermint shampoo writhing their way into his head and drawing forth a shuddering response. Daryl walked Paul backwards to lean him against the kitchen counter; he had the young man giggling and sucking playfully on his tongue in anticipation of what was about to happen.

Daryl eased back and smirked at Paul, then began to kiss down Paul’s throat and chest as he unbuttoned the scout’s shirt with a deft hand, opening it wide. Slowly, he kissed Paul’s collarbone and massaged his strong left pec before going lower. With just the caress of his lips, the brushing scruff of his beard, and his warm breath, Daryl could feel the young man’s heartbeat picking up pace, his excitement evident in the strain of fabric at his crotch. Without further preamble Daryl took Paul’s right nipple into his mouth, producing a sharp intake of breath and an ensuing whimper from his little ninja. 

When he thought Paul couldn’t stand any more, Daryl knelt before him. He ran his warm, wet tongue across Paul’s navel and got a shiver of delight, his little ninja looking too adorable biting on his own lower lip, watching him with those amazing eyes as Daryl rapidly undid the buckles of Paul’s belts and unbuttoned the man’s pants.

“Jesus knows what you’re up to,” Paul teased, his voice more an exhale than anything else.

“Shut up! I’m tryin’a do a thing here!” Daryl shot back, unable to keep the teasing smile off his face as he slowly kissed down the trail of soft dark hair to the waist, fingers reaching in to slide the pants and boxers down in one movement. “I’m doin’ a thing!”

Paul’s swollen cock stood at attention, ready for Daryl to take and make his. The redneck grasped the base of the cock and ran his tongue along the underside of the scout’s erection, paying special attention to the slit and the crown before working his mouth down on it. Soon he was bobbing in a strong rhythm that had Paul breathing heavily. He reached up with his left hand and found Paul’s right nipple, tweaking and twisting it gently. His right hand found its way to Paul’s mouth, slicking up two fingers with the young man’s spit. Before long, he had Paul swept up in a frenzied orgasm, fingering his man, tickling his prostate relentlessly, sucking his huge erection expertly, and swallowing ever drop of his cum before allowing Paul to pull him up by the hair he was still fisting and taste himself on Daryl’s tongue in a deep, lingering kiss. When Paul could breathe again, he started to return the favor, but Daryl reminded him of the meeting. Paul reticently agreed that they had to go, so they cleaned up, finished gathering Daryl’s dirty clothes to drop them off for Tammy, and made their way to go join the social gatherings still in high gear back at Barrington House. Paul did, however, point out that he was sure he could make Daryl cum in just a minute or two. The archer scoffed playfully, but the kiss that followed verified the acknowledgment that a determined Paul could do just that.

“Hey,” Daryl declared, putting down the basket, coming to a stop, and pulling Paul back into his arms. “Only reason we don’t see eye-to-eye is cause yer so damn tiny,” he said, shrugging.

“I am not tiny!” Paul replied in a squeaky cartoon voice, his bottom lip stuck out in mock indignation. 

Daryl loved that his man could take a joke and actually got his sense of humor. Otherwise, he could’ve gotten his ass handed to him just now. Instead, he smirked and chuckled. Paul inhaled sharply as he felt the hunter’s large hand reach down to caress the scout’s cock through the fabric of his tactical pants.

“Nah,” agreed Daryl, his voice back in its husky tone. “N’uh-uh, you sure as _hell_ ain’t tiny. Ya cain’t miss that monster.”

“Careful,” Paul warned, his eyes sparkling with renewed vigor. “He’s a light sleeper!”

Daryl grinned and kissed Paul lightly, then he eased them back toward the house and the meeting that was about to start.

The duo usually made passionate love to each other before a run. Runs were dangerous, and they didn’t want to regret not having done so, but neither did they want to kill the spontaneity of the act either. Fortunately, and with foreplay like theirs, that hadn’t been a problem.


	3. Here Are the Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl and Jesus establish the rules of the Big Run. Later, Jesus repays Daryl's earlier attention with interest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a humorous point, I have been including a few Easter-Egg phrases like last chapter's "Tryin'a do a thing here!" that I hope you find and enjoy!
> 
> Trigger warning: thoughts of self-harm and past self-harm mentioned.

Fifty some-odd people had been fed and moved into the main office. The room had once been a grand parlor that caught the overflow of the library. Gregory had kept it as his personal command center, but then of course, the traitorous prick had also viewed all of Barrington House, the Hilltop, and affiliated amenities as _his_ , people included. After the losses Hilltop had suffered during the war with the Saviors, many of the residents who’d had to group up previously in obtainable housing were now able to have rooms or trailers to themselves or their respective family groups. As a matter of fact, there were now a few extra rooms in the main house and two entirely empty trailers for guests and storage. This room, however, was exceptionally crowded at the moment.

Eugene and Dillon were greeted by Maggie and Enid. Daryl noticed that Rosita kept her distance from Eugene, and not just figuratively either. She had surreptitiously maneuvered herself so that there was always someone else directly between them to inhibit direct interaction. She did not go out of her way to be rude to the awkward man, but neither was she allowing herself to fall back into any semblance of a casual familiarity, much less genuine friendship. Eugene’s choice to stay with Negan had struck a strong negative chord with her, and Rosita wasn’t likely to get over it anytime soon. 

_Grudge, thy name is Rosita Espinosa._

Daryl kept his amusement to himself. People often mistook his backwoods appearance and carriage as meaning that he was inept at detecting and interpreting the social dynamics between others. The hunter had learned from Carol to use this to his advantage, and she should know; she was a master of social camouflage. The only times Daryl found it particularly difficult to pick up on cues were during those early days that involved his relationship with Paul and his own romantic feelings for the man. Now, the two were in perfect synchronicity, even able to finish each other’s sentences. He also knew his man well enough to understand why Paul wanted him close by, up beside him and standing before the crowd, in front of what was _once-douchebag-Gregory’s-but-now-Maggie’s-big-fuck-off-desk_. From there, he looked out over the audience, most of whom smiled back and waited patiently for the meeting to begin. His eyes locked on one of the Saviors. Daryl watched poor, helpless Dillon squirm under the weight of his glare; he liked that reaction very much indeed. Paul nudged him slightly as he handed him copies of the list to distribute. Daryl, in turn, handed them over to Tara, who took the pages and then scowled back at the hunter with a shocked expression.

“Why, yes! I’d _love_ to hand these out for you, Daryl! Thanks for thinking of me!” she said sarcastically and rolling her eyes as she stood back up and turned to hand out the hand-written pages to people on her side of the room.

“Mmhmm,” the hunter grunted, never breaking his scorching stare. He could swear that the other man was about to burst into flame, and that was just fine with Daryl.

The touch of Paul’s hand on the small of his back broke the link. For a second, he was ready to look indignant. It suddenly occurred to him that he should try to be accommodating, seeing as his current actions might undermine Paul’s original intention and the potential outcome of this joint venture. Paul didn’t say a word; he didn’t admonish Daryl or press the issue. He was good about not letting people—foremost Daryl—lose face in front of others. He just smiled encouragingly and spoke up to the gathering. 

“Okay, everyone! On behalf of the leaders and members of the Five Communities Alliance, I want to welcome you all to Hilltop and historic Barrington House. This is the first time that all five groups are working in a mass cooperative effort under the new Accord Treaty that was signed at the end of the war. 

“The purpose of this meeting is to establish guidelines for the Big Run,” Paul continued. “Over the last three weeks, our respective communities have been conducting inventories and submitting request lists. From those lists, we have compiled a master list which is coming around thanks to Tara and Enid.”

Tara gave an overenthusiastic thumbs-up and the sarcastic grimace of an unappreciated employee. Daryl smirked back at her while Enid snickered to herself across the room. 

“So for tonight, we want to go over the rules of the run, read the master list together and make any adjustments, and set the teams and search areas. Now, we certainly do value your time, and we want you to get a chance to socialize and rest up before we leave tomorrow. That said, this meeting will go faster if we all try to save our questions until the end of each segment. So without further delay, Daryl?” Jesus asked, sounding casual, but the hunter knew it was purposeful. “Would you explain the rules of the Big Run, please?” 

Daryl had been expecting it. A few months ago, this would have caught him totally off guard. Then, he would have waited for Rick, Maggie, Ezekiel—hell, anybody else—to talk in front of others like this; he would have shaken his head and said, “Nah, you tell ‘em.” Today, he had set aside his trepidation by focusing his attention elsewhere. Looking for someone to tease; Tara had been handy. It was also why he had chosen to unload some of his silent loathing by boring into Dillon’s skull with his glare. Why not? It sure wasn’t about jealousy. Well, not all of it. Paul didn’t care too much for outright machismo or alpha-male displays, but when the two were alone, he knew the little ninja found a jealous hunter to be very hot indeed. 

Daryl knew why Paul had called him forward. Guilt—Daryl understood that feeling all too well. He had worn it like the scars on his back ever since that horrible night. As for Paul’s own guilt, it had really eaten the young man up that he had allowed Gregory to exploit his station and to turn the entire Hilltop, people and all, into Negan’s property to be used and abused by the Saviors with impunity. That he had allowed the Alexandrians to take on Negan’s forces had plagued Paul’s thoughts relentlessly. Although he had thought that such a decision had been the right thing at the time in order to protect the little community, Paul still blamed himself for not stepping up to change things sooner. It had taken the show of bravery of the Alexandrians—and in particular Daryl—to kick himself into gear, and the scout had admitted to Daryl that he’d been ashamed. Maggie had helped them both; she helped Daryl to accept that he was not responsible for Glenn’s death, and she helped Paul to see that he was a leader. He had taken it upon himself to capture over forty Saviors in the early days of the war rather than to execute them outright. And now, he wanted to live up to his new understanding, that gift from Maggie; the little ninja wanted Daryl to recognize that he was a leader too, and that by taking a stand, an active role, it might help to make up for the past and avoid such difficulty in the future. At least, that was the thought behind it. 

The people gathered here saw the hunter as more than capable and confident, a provider and commander—like the folks had back at the prison, after Woodbury—even when he hadn’t necessarily recognized it in himself, and with Paul at his side, having his back, Daryl had overcome fears about being judged unfairly or viewed as unworthy. He stood up from where he had been sitting on the edge of the desk. 

“Y’all’ve been chosen ‘cause yer good scouts, good recruiters, and yer good at makin’ runs,” said Daryl. All eyes were now on him. Tara was looking back in all seriousness, her earlier sarcasm had sublimated, and she nodded slightly, showing him her agreement and support. She knew getting to this point had not been easy for him. “Most of ya’ve even made runs for other communities. If ya haven’t, don’t stress it. You’ll do fine.

“We got five teams of ten each goin’ out. That means more risk. These rules are put in place fer everybody’s safety ‘cause without us comin’ back with what our folks need, it don’t amount to shit. Rule One: Nobody. Goes. Alone. Ever. Minimum group number is two. No Exceptions.

“Rule Two: Use good sense. Don’t take stupid risks. By volunteerin’ to go on this run, it means y’all know not to put yerselves or each other in a situation where the rest of the team may have to abandon ya or be forced make stupid risks to rescue ya. Usin’ good sense in the first place can avoid this all together. I know we’ve all felt like we had to go out on a limb at times, and I know that sounds piss-poor comin’ from me, but I got a reason not to do anything that’s gonna fuck up what I got now. Think about your reason not to do anything rat-shit crazy. Goin’ above and beyond is the exception, not the rule. Folks love ya, and want ya to come home safe, preferably with more good shit so everybody’ll be happier and safer back home. 

“Rule Three: There will always be sump’n that goes ta shit. When it does, keep your wits about ya, and don’t panic. Remember Rules One and Two. 

“Rule Four: In the event that team members are injured or lost, each team’ll decide whether or not to stay out or abort. That’s all you; it’s yer call. If ya need to, get ta the nearest community, get patched up, and send runners to advise home base here at Hilltop ‘cause we may not always have contact even with the long-range walkie-talkies. 

“Rule Five: If you come acrosst other survivors or new communities, you are authorized to feel ‘em out, give ‘em the Three Questions, weigh out their answers, decide if they come with or go on their merry way. If they pose a threat, kill ‘em, plain and simple; defend yourselves and your team with extreme prejudice.” Daryl paused to let everyone ponder the seriousness and severity of his words. After a half a minute of silent contemplation, he continued.

“Rule Six: Secure the loot” Daryl said, then he tilted his head toward Jesus. “Otherwise, ya might run into some kinda _hippie-dippie-kung-fu-ninja-master-thief_ who’ll pickpocket yer keys, steal yer truck, and drown it in the local fish pond.”

“I hear they steal hearts too!” said Aaron. That got a laugh from the crowd which broke the tension.

“Yeah, man,” Daryl nodded. “They damn sure do that. Actin’ all unconscious an’ shit.”

Jesus cleared his throat. “Any questions about the Rules?” The shaking of heads indicated everyone seemed in agreement. “Okay, good. If you think of something, just raise a hand or shout out, and we’ll try to address it and get you the right answers at the next Q&A point. Meanwhile, we’ll move on to the next topic which is…the master list. It’s big.”

Daryl huffed. “Yeah it is.”

Jesus glanced at him, and suddenly Daryl realized his own Freudian slip; he was having those _a lot_ of late. The pair immediately looked away from one another as another peel of laughter rolled through the audience with wolf-whistles, jeers, and lewd questions about just _how_ big.

“Oh my god, they are both red as stop signs!” said Cyndie. 

Somebody was yelling “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

“Hey, hey, hey! Relax over there! M'talkin' 'bout the list” Daryl said, wishing the subject would change as the snickers ran through the crowd.

Jesus cleared his throat again and continued.

“Priority items are first; these are necessities that meet basic needs: food and water, fuel and stabilizer, clothing, blankets, weapons and ammo, medicine, hygiene products. Secondary items are substitute and long-term goods that make it easier to live day-to-day, make future runs, and ensure shelter and travel: parts, tires, motor oil, cleaning supplies, building materials, batteries, tools. The tertiary items are a catch-all category; these are now luxury goods: books and manuals—“

“Comics!” shouted Enid and Daryl together, getting a chuckle from most of the crowd. They gave each other a sincere thumbs up.

“Games, decorations, gifts, entertainment, any odds and ends that you might find or believe could be converted into something more useful,” Paul explained. “Please read over the list, and we can talk about the items in more detail and add things if you think we need to.”

“Hey, guys. I’m not much of a mechanic, but, what’s with the fuel stabilizer?” asked Dianne. “I’m guessing it makes gasoline last longer?”

“Yeah,” answered Daryl. “Gas’ll break down over time or get contaminated by humidity, rain, fog... Ain’t good for it. This’ll make it more resistant to all that.”

“We are now finding it easier to hit station reservoirs for gas with longer siphoning hoses rather than abandoned cars, but the longer the gas sits, the less likely it is to remain useful,” added Paul. “It would’ve been really easy not to think about grabbing stabilizer for anyone in a hardware or automotive store. If you get some, bring a little back here, but go ahead and treat any gas stations you find that still have fuel.”

“That is officer-level thinking on the fuel stabilizer, gentlemen,” noted Eugene, standing up to address the audience from his chair by the window. “You can take this as the gospel truth, no pun to Jesus,” Eugene said, looking at Paul, then up to the ceiling, “or the other Jesus,” he continued, “and it is the sincerest form of compliment when I say that this had occurred to me back in Houston after I first met the late, great Sgt. Abraham Ford and began calculating the fuel needs by vehicle type for an excursion. I had, however, discounted the necessity of such an additive at the time simply because I had known my prevarication would be better served if the gas actually ran out first in the initial panic, either from supply lines not running, or by natural entropy the longer it took to reach our destination, all the while hoping that the good ole U.S. of A. government would come through with a win. Unfortunately that was not to be the case, but that fact that you fellows are thinking in ‘long-term survival mode’ gives us time to potentially research new fuel sources and perhaps convert our vehicles to something else. I have a few ideas on the proverbial drawing board to share with the other leaders which I anticipate will, if successful, swing the pendulum of our present travel situation from Flintstones pedal power back towards the ‘warp speed’ variety.” The quirky man, nodded, and sat back in his seat.

“Awesome! That’s very good to know, Eugene,” Paul responded kindly. “If we aren’t dependent on petroleum fuel to power vehicles and generators, it would be a distinct leap forward for us all. Thank you for all you and your team do to help us have a better quality of life.” 

“It is my honor and duty to do so as a sign of reparation,” Eugene stated. 

Rosita just rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest, but Daryl, having been struggling less to translate Eugene’s geek-speak than to parse it for clarity, actually felt good about it. Paul’s response had put him at ease before he might have blurted out something akin to _“What the fuck, man? Speak reg’lur English for fuck’s sake!”_ Paul was encouraging the man and helping everyone else see the good in what he was suggesting, even when the asshat had actually implied that he was smarter than the two of them, and by extension, everyone else in the communities. 

_You make people see good outta bad. You made me see it, helped me find it. I was blind without you, and now_ —holy shit! _My little ninja could actually_ be _Jesus!_

Paul looked back over at Daryl who had a faraway look of wonderment in his eyes. “All good?”

“Yeah,” Daryl answered quietly and nodded to Paul, snapping back into the moment. _Not gonna blush, damn it!_ Paul turned back to address the crowd directly.

“Okay, so as for team-ups, we have mixed the teams so that there’s an even distribution of community representation and a decent mix of skills to ensure better success,” Paul announced. 

“Who selected the teams? You two guys?” asked Brooke. The middle aged woman had been sitting quietly near the door. Her tone was a simple question that reflected the thoughts of others, particularly those present from her community, the Sanctuary. They were a reasonable questions too, rather than veiled accusations. 

Initially, all Daryl and Paul had known of her was that she had been a worker for the Saviors. Once, she had been a postal worker in Virginia Beach. In their last trip to Alexandria, Brooke had been present and had sat outside the new meeting hall having a cigarette. Both Daryl and Paul had noticed her little rolling machine and pouch of dried tobacco. She had rolled and offered a smoke to everyone who been around the side of the building, six in all. In the conversations they carried on that night, she was clear and direct with no bullshit to her. They discovered that after the fall, she had ended up as a capable runner under Dwight’s group before becoming a worker under Negan’s reign. She had even risked her life to stand up to Negan’s council during his brief absence. To his utter amazement, Daryl had liked her immediately, and that was something he never thought he’d have said about anyone with an association to the Saviors. If anyone from the Sanctuary had a right to question something, it was her. 

“Not specifically,” Jesus explained. “Daryl and I have significant experience, so our input was taken into account, along with some of the more experienced runners who are here tonight, but in the end, our community leaders had the final say on who goes. There were even volunteers who were turned away because either they were needed elsewhere—“

“Or, ‘cause they might not work out. There might be too much shit ‘tween them and folks they’s just shootin’ at not so long ago,” Daryl said, shrugging. “If folks ain’t ready, they ain’t ready. It ain’t nothin’ bad on ‘em; just is what it is. Any of y’all havin’ second thoughts, now’s the time ta speak up. If ya ain’t cool with it, you can bounce. Ain’t nobody gonna judge ya for it, and if they do, fuck ‘em. Y’all’re volunteerin’ to help, not to suffer old grudges or bad mem’ries. Anybody gives ya guff about it, send ‘em to me. I can explain it to who-the-fuck-ever in terms Ajax won’t wash off.”

The ovation was unexpected. It took about ten seconds for Daryl to realize that it was for him; he’d thought at first that something was terribly wrong when everyone had stood up. He had never had anyone clap for him before, at least not outside of winning a race in elementary school at a field day event that had been attended by Merle, his parents, and his Uncle Jess. That had been the last day Daryl thought his father had been truly proud of him a year before his mother’s decline and death, before the drinking and the terrible lash of a leather strop, before Merle left. Now, in declaring that he had many people’s backs, supporting them where their feelings from the past might prevent them from working well with others to complete the task at hand or leaving each other dangerously distracted, they were responding in kind, and from the sound of the applause, he was voicing a very real concern that the crowd needed to address. 

“Get ‘em, Daryl!” 

“Come say it to some of our folks! They don’t get it!” 

“I wanna see somebody try to talk some shit to Daryl’s face!”

“Slap some Georgia on it, son!”

“You go, Daryl!” 

Paul was smiling at him and clapping in full agreement with the crowd. When Daryl looked at him, his little ninja nodded back and gave a subtle and quick widening and squinting of his beautiful eyes in a way that Daryl recognized from their bedroom, then he turned back to address the crowd as they took their seats again. 

_Oh fuck yeah, I am gettin’ some tonight!_

“Before we go any further, let me say something everybody needs to hear: Thank you all!” Jesus stated. Maggie was nodding along, her silence a show of her reverence for the occasion and her trust in Daryl and Jesus.

“You are genuinely appreciated,” Jesus continued. “This job isn’t easy. If it were, we wouldn’t find ourselves in such desperate need of it all the time. It’s dangerous, and people die. Sometimes runners go missing. And sometimes we are not as successful. However, as a wise deputy sheriff from Atlanta often reminds us: the Law of Averages. Good things have got to happen sometimes. Sometimes it all works out in our favor. That’s what we have to focus on. I don’t mind telling you that there are some deficiencies in several communities that are becoming critical. We all need this to work.”

Brooke nodded. Daryl sat back on the edge of the large antique desk, his attention fully on Paul, and his chest swelling again in pride at his man. To Daryl, Paul was, at that moment, nine feet tall and bulletproof.

“Now, here are the teams…”

 

****

 

Daryl, Paul, Brooke, and several others were outside. A couple of fires had been built in two large, wrought iron, outdoor fireplace sets, probably recovered for Gregory’s use from somebody’s home goods fashion find. Brooke’s little machine snapped down to crank out a perfectly rolled cigarette, which she handed to the stark woman next to her. Jadis accepted it with a simple nod and a sad smile. She produced a zippo lighter with a US Marine Corp emblem on it. Daryl had bought—or rather stolen—one like it from a shitty gas station when he was twelve as a coming home gift for Merle one Christmas. Merle didn’t come home that year. This scene was almost as sad. None of the Scavengers came home from the war either. In retribution for working with Rick, Negan’s number one goon and company had raided their stronghold and stores and massacred the lot of them, leaving Jadis the sole survivor of a broken, useless trash heap and a slew of new Walkers. She and the Strays now made their way between the communities and avoided major interactions other than to trade. Tonight, her knowledge of some of the lesser scouted areas farther south of Richmond was of significant trading value. And, she was willing to take in ex-Saviors, many of whom had been prisoners of war or surrendered after Negan’s defeat. People were the most valuable commodity to her. This tactic had allowed those particular individuals to stop being a burden and return to a productive stance. In three cases, she had also taken in former Wolves. Only two in her new colony had attempted to defy her leadership and attempt a coup. They were never seen alive again, and as far as Daryl was concerned, that was her damn business. 

None of her new community would speak of it. That was their deal. Regardless, everyone watched her community carefully.

“He is yours?” Jadis asked, looking at Jesus, who was walking to join them, but she was clearly addressing Daryl.

“Yep,” Daryl answered, short and sweet. He had figured out that “simple” worked best when dealing with Jadis, even if she was one of the most “extra” females he’d ever encountered. Daryl took a drag of his smoke and exhaled, staying seated on the concrete and brick railing at the back terrace of Barrington House. On hearing their exchange, Paul sat in Daryl’s lap. Daryl reached his left hand around the scout’s waist to rest it on Paul’s hip. 

The left side of Daryl’s mouth slanted up in a crooked, satisfied smile, his eyes never leaving Jadis’ own and absolutely not playing into her amusement.

“Good,” she said. “He cares. S’in your eyes too.” 

_Shit, she ain’t pokin’ fun. This stone cold bitch’s actually happy for somebody else fer once. Reckon it lets her still feel alive._

Paul nodded to Jadis and offered her his water bottle which he had just filled. She shook her head and took a drag.

“You two were kind. After.” Jadis’ gratitude was evident. “Always welcome.”

“Thanks,” Paul said. Jadis nodded and took another drag. 

Daryl looked up at Paul, then over his little ninja’s shoulder back to meet Jadis eyes in the light of the fire and nodded once. She returned the gesture. It was clear her interest in Paul was for his skills. Daryl knew her real sexual attraction was reserved for his brother-from-another-mother, “Ricky-dicky-doo-dah” Grimes. That would be for him and Michonne to worry about.

_Who the fuck woulda thought we’d be welcome at the junkyard? Plenny’a steel, aluminum, copper..._

Daryl was thinking of interrupting Earl Sutton a few feet away to introduce him to Jadis when the cry of a baby rang out. Looking up, they saw Aaron walking out of the back door. Gracie was being incredibly fussy and inconsolable. Aaron was trying to sing a lullaby and slightly rock the baby as he walked along. Teething sucked. 

“There’s some Ora-Cream in Maggie’s medicine cabinet,” said Paul, hopping up. “Be right back!” He ran off into the house.

Daryl stepped over to his friend. He leaned down and kissed Gracie’s head. 

“I know. Hurts like a bitch, don’t it, Junebug?” Daryl whispered.

“God, I feel like I’m doing something wrong!” Aaron said. He was clearly upset. “She’s got a little fever and she can’t get any rest. She’s cranky, and now I’m getting cranky.” He sighed and shook his head, whispering to Daryl. I don’t think I should leave her. I mean, what if it’s not just teething? What if it’s something else?“

“Hey, hey! Calm down, man,” Daryl reassured and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. 

The last thing Daryl and Rick had expected to find in what had been noted by Dwight as a weapons depot was an infant girl. Was she the result of Negan and one of his “wives?” Maybe she had belonged to Morales or that other piece-of-shit that tried to kill Rick. Maybe that’s why they were there. If they had taken the time to move the weapons, why the fuck hadn’t they taken the baby first? Gracie’s sobs brought him back to now.

“You ain’t gotta do this all alone,” Daryl reminded.

“Who else?” Aaron started, then stopped, realization kicking in. 

“Have they offered?” Daryl asked.

Aaron sighed and bounced the baby a bit in his arms. “They have, I really appreciate it. I know they are devastated, but they’re also smart enough to recognize that they can’t replace Carl with Gracie. Besides all that, I’ve really gotten attached. If I hadn’t had her after Eric… If she left now, I’d be in an even darker place—or maybe not here at all.” The recruiter’s eyes were wet and shiny in the firelight.

Daryl knew that place all too well. He had the burn scars to prove it, the ones he had purposefully inflicted upon himself. And he had thought about it, but been too stubborn—or maybe too chicken-shit—to actually go through with it. He had thought about it after Beth’s death. Hell, he’d even considered a suicide mission to take out the Governor after having been forced to put down his own brother. It had crossed his mind after Carol told him what he had to do, but he had his rage, or too many people in the group who had depended on him, or Paul; and those were saving graces. He looked at the burn mark on his left wrist as he stroked Gracie’s hair.

 _Figures a little baby named Gracie would be Aaron’s savin’ grace._

“Got a pacifier?” he asked Aaron.

“Lost it,” Aaron admitted ruefully. 

“Got a clean finger?”

“Are you kidding?” Aaron looked astonished. “Who has those anymore?”

“Kids need dirt,” the hunter shrugged. Daryl, bent index finger and held it up to Gracie for her to gnaw upon. The toddler grew quieter.

Aaron had sighed and started to protest when Paul came back out with an extra pacifier, a teething ring that had previously found for Lil Hellraiser, and a small cloth with the anesthetic medicine for mouth sores. Daryl let Aaron try to get the cloth into the baby girl’s mouth until the frustrated father finally gave in and let the hunter wipe the cream onto a finger and use it to get to Gracie’s sore gums. After a few minutes, Gracie was sleeping soundly.

“Dr. Siddiq, Brianna, and the McElmores are going to take really good care of Gracie while you’re out,” assured Jesus. “They’re already arguing over who gets to keep her first.”

“Thanks, guys,” Aaron said. “I really owe you both. You guys know how much you both—“ He cut off abruptly, breathing quickly as he fought back emotions; then, he started to break down.

“C’mere, man,” Daryl ordered. The pair pulled Aaron into a hug and let him cry quietly, never disturbing the sleeping babe. 

 

****

 

Daryl recognized his old high school gym. The place was empty and almost blank beyond the first couple of levels of the bleachers which he knew should extend up and farther back to walls he couldn’t make out clearly. And there was Paul, in the center on those blue mats they used to spread out for gymnastics, but no one else: no coaches, no teams, no students, just Paul, and he was doing his ninja kata stuff. He was graceful, hot, and sweaty which made him glisten in an unearthly way under those old mercury-vapor lamps in the ceiling. His hair moved like it was in a shampoo commercial, shining with an inner glow like well-polished wood grain, and it, and his body, seemed to flow like everything was in slow motion. He stopped when he saw Daryl approach him. Paul turned to face him, smiling back in that way that meant Daryl was the center of his existence. Daryl hadn’t noticed until now that his man was no longer wearing the vest and trench coat; in fact, he no longer had a shirt on either, and his pants were riding very low on his hips. Paul was also taller here, and that amused Daryl a bit. 

The hunter was even more amused when the scout walked up, placed his arms around Daryl’s shoulders, and pressed his straining erection against Daryl’s thigh. Somehow, he was softly moved back and shifted supine, legs spread apart and knees bent. Paul knelt down between his thighs, pushing up Daryl’s shirt, his hands flowing over Daryl’s broad chest, stopping to play with his nipples while he kissed his way down the archer’s stomach. He looked down into Paul’s beautiful, icy, blue-green eyes and watched in astonishment as the man literally ripped the archer’s jeans and boxers to shreds with what seemed to be supernatural strength, freeing Daryl’s throbbing cock. Paul’s warm hands stroked his thick, hard, impressive length, causing his breathing to catch and his heart to speed up. A playful look crossed Paul’s face as he leaned down to take Daryl into his heated, wet mouth, sinking all the way to the bottom before returning to swirl his tongue around the head and repeat. After a few dozen or so sucks, he looked down as Paul released the shaft and began licking his way down Daryl’s balls, working his way to the prize below.

Daryl’s own moan of pleasure pulled him awake straight away.

_Goddamnit! That was a good dream—oh fuck yes, Paul!!_

Daryl lifted his head off the pillow to peer down. In the light from the windows he could see Paul clearly. He was leaned over on his right side and had removed his and Daryl’s sleeping trunks; Paul’s long, hard cock was arching up to his navel, his sac and balls drawn up close in arousal. The young man was taking his time, tongue and fingers probing at Daryl’s warmth while reaching back up to stroke Daryl’s rock-hard cock slowly, his hand slicked up with spit and lubricant from the bottle beside the archer’s left thigh. 

“Yeah,” Daryl nodded, swallowing hard and reaching down to stroke his hand through Paul’s lustrous hair. “Yeah. Do it. Put it in.”

Hearing Daryl’s waking consent, Paul licked deeply, then he slowly stuck his well-lubed middle finger into Daryl’s hole, penetrating his lover with care. He continued to stroke the hunter’s engorged cock and lick at his balls while Daryl grew accustomed to the finger moving slightly in and out, helping him to acclimate. After a couple of minutes, Daryl moved a leg up to rest his right calf on Paul’s left hip, his toes extended, and his heel pulling Paul slightly into him, encouraging the man to continue his intimate attentions. Paul entered him with a second finger, reaching up to caress the gland that intensified everything. The ring of muscle eased further. The small, delicate circles of tender touching made Daryl exhale in a shudder.

“Not too much yet. Wanna cum with you!” Daryl cautioned. Paul had given him wood a cat couldn’t scratch, and a generous flow of pre-cum began leaking from the slit to run down the head and shaft, evidence of his heightened arousal; Paul was clearly in the driver’s seat right now. Daryl reached down and stroked his little ninja’s face and beard. The man’s expression wasn’t the mischievous leer from the dream, not purposefully teasing; instead, Paul’s visage was lustful and determined. Daryl had made Paul cum earlier that evening. Now, this was his show.

“You know how hot you made me tonight, right?” Paul said in a breathy, lust-laden voice, followed by running his tongue hot and wet up the underside of Daryl’s rigid cock, his shining eyes fixated on Daryl’s own. Pre-cum was running in a slow, clear, shining line down Daryl’s swollen member, his foreskin fully retracted behind the crown of his glans. The hunter could only whimper vociferously and nod back in the affirmative. “Let me show you just how hot it made me,” Paul warned, then he took the archer’s huge cock down his throat to the hilt and held it there for a few seconds while Daryl squirmed helplessly. This wasn’t punishment; this was reward.

A few minutes after the addition of his lover’s third finger had Daryl’s head thrown back, his mouth calling out Paul’s name, and his hands gripping the sheets for dear life. Paul slowly and carefully removed them, then picked up the bottle, and applied the lubricant to his rigid cock. Daryl looked back down to see it, arcing up proudly on display as Paul stroked it to distribute the slick combination of the lubricant and their shared spit and pre-cum. He looked into Daryl’s face and leaned in to kiss him deeply. 

“I’m ready,” assured Daryl, as he spoke into the impassioned kiss, lips sucking, tongues licking, breaths mingling. “C’mon, I need ya in me.”

Paul reached back and moved Daryl’s legs up onto his shoulders, aligning his turgid cock with Daryl. The hunter reached down for the scout’s hips pulling him forward as Paul began to push the head gently past the tight ring of muscle and into the hot channel inside. When he was halfway in, he stopped and looked to Daryl. Daryl nodded back, and Paul moved deeper inside, eliciting significant groans from the both of them. Daryl reached up and pulled Paul back down into a furious kiss; it helped to distract from the pressure. 

Both men had been pleasantly surprised to discover that they were each exceptionally well-endowed, although Paul had referred to himself as “a grower, not a show-er.” Daryl was slightly longer, but only by maybe a centimeter. Both had girth that was hard to get a hand around fully. When erect, Daryl’s cock stood straight out, thick from the base to the head, while Paul’s curved upward in a beautiful, long, thick arc, widening in the middle. It was very dramatic on Paul’s naked frame, and he’d said it often made it difficult to get rid of one-night stands who suddenly thought they’d hit the jackpot. Daryl had never had much opportunity to compare against other men. In gym class he had never changed into gym clothes, often losing grade points for it until he had explained to the coach that he didn’t own any gym stuff, and his family couldn’t afford it. As for changing, he never even changed his shirt—for personal reasons—much less put on a jockstrap or other gym gear, and he was in and out like a flash if he ever even darkened the locker room door for any reason other than to piss. The only ones who’d ever seen him naked were his parents and his brother, and Merle had made fun of him and called him “jackass” less for being stubborn and more as if he had a deformity. Paul on the other hand, had grown up in a group home with open showers like a military barracks. His problem had been getting erections that were impossible to hide. After seemingly relentless taunting, he had finally learned to overcome his embarrassment. When he learned that guys who liked guys often enjoyed larger cocks, his dance card was seldom empty; however, there were times he admitted to having been turned down for anal sex or asked to bottom because he was “too much to take.” That was absolutely not the case for Daryl. Both men were open to the full pleasures of their coupling, and they indulged each other’s desires with an exuberant love and appreciation of the variety that came with it.

Paul began to slowly pull out and move back in. After a few moments of kissing together and letting Daryl get acclimated to the size, the brawny redneck began to encourage Paul to pick up his pace. In a few minutes, Paul was fucking him in earnest, reaching to pinch Daryl’s nipples and stroke his cock with a tightened grip. Soon, sweat was running down Paul’s chest in rivulets, and Daryl’s own body had formed a clear sheen. 

“I wanna see you do it, goddamnit,” Paul ordered, his voice brooked no alternative, no defiance from the hunter. Releasing Daryl’s throbbing cock, Paul leaned down and sucked hard on Daryl’s right nipple, then left a hickey on his neck, just under his right ear. The hunter grunted and moaned, caught up in the pounding he was receiving. When he was satisfied with the mark he’d left, Paul rose up and placed his hands on the hunter’s ankles, licking and kissing up Daryl’s left calf, continuing to thrust deep inside the god-of-a-man beneath him. “You hear me, you hot fucker? You liking my big cock in you?”

“Y’uh-huh!” Daryl moaned in assent.

“Do it for me!” Paul commanded. “I wanna see you fucking shoot for me—all over me.”

“Oh god, Paul! Fuck me harder! Harder, please!!!” Daryl yelled back. 

Paul obliged him, the clapping of his taut hips on Daryl’s perfect ass filling the room. Daryl could see Paul determined to make it happen. He felt his well-hung lover pull almost all of the way out and adjust his reentry to run the head of his swollen cock against the hunter’s prostate over and over again with each stroke, pounding him hard and fast. A dull heat began to coalesce in his lower abdomen. He knew Paul could feel his sphincter begin to clinch. Soon.

“I love ya, Paul! Oh god! Love ya so much!”

“You’re fucking—amazing!” Paul gasped. His hair was slicked with sweat and sticking to his forehead, face, and shoulders. He arched his back and bent in to kiss Daryl. “Your goddamn ass is so hot! I’m gonna cum so fucking deep inside you, Daryl!”

“CUM IN ME!!!” Daryl exclaimed. “Please! Need it!!!”

Daryl grabbed a fistful of hair in each hand to pull his man into a deep frenzied kiss, sucking Paul’s tongue and lips, his legs moving down to lock behind Pauls’ ass and draw him in.

“You make me so happy—I love you so fucking much!” Paul breathed into his mouth.

Daryl’s grunts were building louder than ever with each thrust of Paul’s cock.

“Paul!” Daryl exclaimed. The reactions of his body were clear: mouth open, blue eyes wide, pupils expanded. His nostrils flared, his skin was flushed, chest heaving, fingers gripping Paul’s hips, pulling his only love into him faster and deeper. Daryl’s engorged member was heavy and hard, beginning to pulse. It was happening. 

“Oh FUCK, Paul! M’gonna cum for ya! Make me—gonna AHHHH! AHHHH!! AHHHH!!! AHHHH!!!!” 

Daryl spilled over, his climax blasting through his mind and spirit, his body reacting in kind, shooting a torrent of his seed between them. And, he had done so without touching himself, just from being fucked by Paul’s fantastic cock which made it even hotter. Until Daryl had literally fucked the cum out of Paul before and been eyewitness to a hands-free orgasm, he’d never even known that such a thing was physiologically possible. Now, when they brought each other off this way, it was the most erotic moment of his life.

Seeing and feeling Daryl cum beneath him—the look in Daryl’s eye’s, and sounds he made, the hot splatter on their chests and stomachs—was too much for Paul. The scout’s orgasm slammed through him, tearing a loud moan of utter satisfaction out of his lungs. Paul slowed his thrusts as he spurted deep inside his only love, finally easing his intensity as they both rode the wave of ecstasy to its lull. After rubbing Daryl’s thighs and hips for a few moments and letting their breathing calm down, the scout carefully pulled himself out of the hunter’s warmth. Paul swept a hand up through his long hair to pull it over his right shoulder, then lay down with his head on Daryl’s godlike chest. He looked up into his man’s dark blue eyes, the fingers of his right hand caressing the tattoo above his hunter’s nipple.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“No, thank you,” the hunter replied. “Got you all over, didn’t I?”

Paul laughed. “Yeah, that was fucking hot.”

“Hey, you made me do it.”

Paul leaned over and kissed the brawny god again. “High praise.”

“Well, when yer fucking Jesus…”

“Glory be!” Paul said joking and smiling back like the lovesick fool he was. “The only thing missing from that religious moment was a rattlesnake!”

“Now _that_ is some blasphemous shit Merle woulda come up with!” Daryl guffawed, then pulled the smaller man back on top of him. They lay like that for a few minutes until Paul’s stomach growled softly.

“Me too,” said Daryl. “You didn’t get enough of that boar barbecue?”

“Oh, I got some while I was in the kitchen helping to clean up,” the little ninja replied. “But…”

Paul leaned down to the left side of the bed and reached for something underneath. Daryl heard something shuffle, his brows furrowed in curiosity. Paul got back into position lying on top of Daryl but with and mischievous grin on his face and a large, rectangular container that was all too familiar in his hands. He opened it, reached in and took out a date-nut cookie, placed it in his mouth, and leaned down to let Daryl have a bite that would surely transform into a kiss, a quickening precursor to another round of their amorous sport.

“You were cleanin’ up alright! Goddamn, I love my _hippie-dippie-kung-fu-ninja-master-thief_ ,” Daryl said around the cookie-kiss, gently stroking his hands along Paul’s hips.


	4. Jesus Is My Co-Pilot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Big Run begins, Daryl & Paul have to give someone the "shovel talk," and Enid's cinnamon rolls are a hit! All is well, so surely, something must eventually go wrong, right? Damn that Law of Averages!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and comments. Oh, I saw that the Savior, "Dillon," is actually being called "Alden" on the show. Apparently Dillon was the name used in the audition sides, or so the anecdote goes. regardless, I will call him Dillon for now. Maybe use Alden as his surname. I just know that according to Daryl, if he wants to stay "good with his hands," he better watch his flirting with Jesus.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Already about 20% into Chapter 5.

“Daryl?” The soft voice sliced gently through the tranquility.

Daryl inhaled sharply, and blinked his eyes. The room was still dark, but he could make out Paul’s beautiful face, his glorious eyes, and that roguish smile that let him know his little ninja had been up to more than just getting an early start. The gorgeous man was knelt down next to the bed, and his fingers were rubbing on the archer’s muscular upper arm. Daryl raised himself up onto his elbows.

“Hmm, mornin’,” Daryl rasped.

“You’re up early. Thought you’d be sacked out—( _yawn_ )—like me,” said Daryl. Suddenly, fear crept into his mind, the looming specter of doom he’d come to know so often when awakened early. “Sump’n wrong?” he asked, his brows furrowing, a note of worry in his voice. 

“No, no. Nothing, baby,” Paul assured, leaning over to kiss his lips. The scout had used the vanilla mint toothpaste. His hair was towel damp and smelled of peppermint. “It’s time. Today’s the run, and I know you want to be ready to go. I’ve got our gear all ready, and we will be expected to drop by for breakfast this morning.”

“Thought we was outta breakfast stuff,” Daryl declared. 

“We are—well, Bis-Quick at least,” Paul explained, “but Rick sent a couple of fifty-pound bags of bread flour, some cans of powdered milk, and some industrial yeast packages he got from an old bakery. Michonne said he and Carl had seen it the morning they first encountered Siddiq, but they hadn’t had a chance to go back until recently.”

“Had other things on his mind,” Daryl whispered back. He looked up into Paul’s eyes. His little ninja eased a hand across his bare chest and up to the left side of his face, thumb rubbing on his cheek and jawline. He knew just what to do to help mitigate the melancholy that Daryl still felt over losing Carl. In that touch, in that look, Daryl felt a rush of love and compassion, a knowing that belonged between them and never discounted the feelings but soothed them. 

“What time is it?”

“It’s 5:34,” Paul answered. “Sun will be up soon. Already starting to lighten up out there.”

Daryl sighed and threw off the spare blanket as he rose. Paul stood up out of his path to the bathroom and switched on the battery powered lantern on the center table before turning back to face Daryl. The muscular man stopped, reached over, and pulled Paul in tight. Daryl hugged the scout so close, his morning erection pressing between them as he kissed Paul from neck to forehead and back. After a moment of silent thanks, Daryl moaned and let his hands roam and fall away, pulled along by nature in his trek to empty his bladder. He knew Paul was watching him, his bouncing cock sticking straight out like a flagpole on a building. Daryl stopped just short of the doorway and looked back over his shoulder.

“S’okay t’look, man,” the hunter jibed. “I mean, I know you like it.”

“Mmhmm,” Paul hummed. “You got me there.”

Daryl flexed his ass muscles twice, and Paul was helpless to burst out into laughter.

“Hurry up!” Paul said, grabbing a spare towel and tossing it to land on Daryl’s head. “Don’t want to be late.”

“Yes, sir, boss man!” Daryl joked back, starting the water and stepping into the stall. 

Once he was showered, refreshed, and back out, Daryl noticed that the spare bedding had been removed from the bed and piled up next to the door with Paul’s used towel and every dishrag, handkerchief, bandana—oh yes, and last night’s hand towels too—all ready to go to Tammy this morning and join their other items. 

“Hey,” Daryl said pensively. “You reckon we orta just keep them cum rags and do ‘em ourselves?”

“Tammy raised four boys,” replied Paul. “She knows how this works. Now, if we were giving them to Bertie…”

“Point taken,” Daryl acknowledged, his hands up in a sign of surrender; he was looking around.

Even last night’s clothes were gone. Only Paul’s outfit and his own were still here. Paul sat on the couch, his finger now a bookmark as he watched Daryl finish up. 

“A’ight, where is it?“ he asked, a mild hint of annoyance in his question. Realization began to sink in, and Daryl peered over at Paul. Was this a prank? He stared back.

“That glare of yours may be able to melt through plate armoring and cause mental trauma to Saviors, but you know it doesn’t work on me,” the scout said, dropping his book on the end table and rising from the couch to come over and stand in front of the broad-shouldered hunter. “Besides, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t help take care of the things you love and hold dear? Look around us—no more books on the floor thanks to the bookshelves you built. Pegs for our belts and knives, bins for our stuff, you changed out the vanity in our bathroom—Daryl, you make this place a stress-free _home_ for us.”

Daryl’s thumbnail rose to his mouth. Paul gently caught Daryl’s hand and brought it to his own lips, placing a delicate kiss on the nail bed and never breaking contact with Daryl’s eyes.

“Don’t worry,” Paul reassured. “Tammy stayed up half the night. Thanks to some leather upholstery cleaner, a little oil soap, some Oxy-Clean, and the last hair dryer in the free world…”

“Ah, man,” Daryl groaned. “I didn’t want her ta have ta go to all that trouble.”

“I told her that, but I might as well have been talking to a stump for all the good it did,” he said, smiling up at Daryl. “Reminds me of someone else when he sets his mind to something.”

“Pfft!” Daryl huffed. “Yeah, Rick can be downright pigheaded.”

The scout rolled his eyes, and Daryl instantly stepped into him, hands cupping his face as he slotted their lips into a tender kiss. 

“I guess this means you’re gonna keep me in spite of my obvious flaws and my penchant for making sure your things are well-kept,” Paul jested.

Daryl nodded, “Fuck yeah, I'm keepin’ ya!” Daryl held the young man in his powerful arms, his face becoming more serious and his voice low. “I want ya right here. Next ta me. Where you belong.”

Paul reached up, stroked Daryl’s damp bangs out of his face to better reveal his love’s eyes, and looked into them deeply. The archer was transfixed by the look of adoration that was reflected in Paul’s own. 

“Nowhere else I’d rather be,” Paul whispered back, nuzzling his face into the archer's neck. He wanted Daryl to crush him utterly against that incredible chest. He could feel Daryl’s arousal growing.

Daryl peeked at the clock.

“Shit!” the redneck cursed. He gripped a fistful of Paul's long, silky hair with his fingers and pulled his only love's head back to face him again. His voice was low and husky. “I wanna throw ya back down on that bed an’ fuck the ever-lovin’—“

“Shhh,” Paul whispered, putting a finger over the hunter’s lips. Daryl kissed it and took it into his mouth, tonguing the digit fondly. Paul moaned and eased his finger from Daryl’s mouth. “You are extra horny this morning, and _I love it_ ; unfortunately, we don’t have the time.” Paul grabbed his own fistful of Daryl’s hair, drawing a hissing inhale from his man. “And what I want you to do to me, is not gonna be a quickie.”

Daryl exhaled sharply through his nose, jaws set, lips a drawn line. “And just what would that be?”

“Promise that you won't stop until my legs shake and the neighbors know your name,” Paul teased. “Treat me like homework! Slam me down on the table and do me all night long! Do a magic trick, and make my underwear vanish!” 

“Pfft!” Daryl huffed and began laughing. “Oh my god! You remembered that shit?”

“How could I ever forget your list of Merle Dixon’s Greatest Hits?” Paul asked, his amused smiled lighting up the room. Daryl held Paul tightly, hugging his little ninja, holding him safe and secure, smelling his hair.

_What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t help take care of the things you love and hold dear?_

“I still cain’t believe those skanks would fall for pick-up lines that reeked of his bullshit!” Daryl laughed, shaking his head. 

“Maybe he just had something special?” Paul suggested.

“Yeah, the clap!” Daryl grumbled.

“Yikes!” Paul grimaced, and pulled back.

Daryl shrugged, then continued, shaking his head. “Merle was sump’n all right. Definitely had a way with words, but he’d didn’t always get shot down.”

Paul cupped Daryl’s face and kissed him. “I know one thing: he had a very special brother who holds my heart in his hand.”

“ _Hands_ ,” Daryl corrected, seeing the pupils widening in those misty blue-green eyes he adored. Paul watched as his god-of-a-man looked at him and swallowed hard. “It takes two hands when the heart’s as big has yers.”

“I love you,” Paul declared, kissing Daryl even more deeply, their tongues dancing together. He broke it all too soon for either of them a last effort to get the pair back on track.

“It takes even more ta hold your big fuckin’ dick!” the hunter spoke into the kiss, hands plummeting into the scout’s pants, one finding Paul’s swollen cock, the other hand descending down the back of Paul’s pants, fingers sliding into the crack of his sculpted ass, finding the reward within.

And yes, Daryl got his desired quickie.

 

****

 

The backdoor to the house kitchen was open in the cool gray of morning, heat pouring out in lieu of conventional air conditioning. Birds were starting to whistle and the rattle of a woodpecker, hard at work in the nearby woods, was cutting through the silence as the pair made their way across the side yard. They could see Juaquita and Frank making their final security loop along the inside perimeter of the palisade wall, their shift almost complete. Earl would be up soon to stoke the forge, and Kal and Eduardo would be taking up morning shifts at the wall. 

“You smell cinnamon?” Daryl asked, flicking his cigarette butt into the burn barrel as they strolled past. 

“Remember that bread flour?” Paul asked.

“Oh, you know Enid’s gonna show out with Carol here,” Daryl chuckled. “Let the pastry bake-off commence!”

“So, yesterday Eduardo came to ask me about something,” Paul said, changing the subject.

“Yeah? What’d he want?” Daryl asked. He could tell something was up.

“Well basically, he asked how I would feel about it if he wanted to court Maggie,” Paul said. There was a slight smile on the scout’s face. “He was also pretty worried about what her family—and you in particular—might think of him.”

“Hey, now—“

“It’s okay!” Paul explained before Daryl could get riled up. He knew Daryl despised getting involved in someone else’s life, especially that person’s love life. “I told him that Maggie is a grown woman who doesn’t need her best friend or her ‘bubba’ to make romantic decisions for her.”

“Hmmph,” Daryl huffed. “So lemme guess. You don’t want me to cock-block him.”

“We both like Eduardo,” Paul stated. “He’s a great guy, he’s around Maggie’s age, they get along well, he adores her… Glenn was your best friend and Maggie is basically your sister.”

Daryl touched Paul’s forearm, and the pair stopped to face each other.

“And?” Daryl prompted. 

“And, while I have no desire to play matchmaker, I think that Maggie is way too fucking young to just lock it up and throw away the key,” Paul answered. “She needs someone to be there, someone she can count on beyond just friends and family, and someone who loves her and wants to make her as happy as I want to make you.” There was a sad look in his eyes, and Daryl knew how much it had taken for Paul to even open up to Maggie. This wasn’t Paul insinuating himself into her business, this was him looking out for a friend. 

_Always the caretaker._

“A’ight,” the redneck nodded. “But I still get to give ‘im _the talk_.”

“You and me both!”

They resumed their walk to the kitchen. As they approached the threshold, Daryl inquired, “You thought I’s gonna start some shit up, huh?”

Paul turned back and took his hand. His silent, knowing smile was met with Daryl’s stare. Finally, Daryl said, “Yeah, I might’a made it harder for ‘im.”

“Which would result in?”

“Maggie being upset, prolly pissed off at me,” Daryl concluded with a sigh. “And I wouldn’t be a very good friend ta Glenn if I did anything to keep his widow and child from being able to have the best in life—from having a family.”

Paul nodded back. “Eddie can never take Glenn’s place, but there’s room for him too.”

“Thanks for tellin’ me, babe,” Daryl said. “I really do appreciate you keepin’ me outta trouble.”

Daryl squeezed his little ninja’s hand as they walked into the laundry room. Paul dropped the last bundle of their laundry into the bin for Tammy. They turned and found a gleaming, black leather vest with nearly pristine white wings hanging on one of the inside lines. Daryl blinked at it, then took it down, dropping the pins into an empty basket. The side strings, which had been starting to turn greenish gray with mold after the stint with Dwight at the Sanctuary, had been replaced with new black cord. He put it on over his sleeveless shirt. It smelled like Armor-All protectant. He turned around to face his only love. Paul stepped up and put his hands on Daryl’s chest.

“Glorious,” Paul whispered. 

“Stop,” Daryl muttered, pulling his little ninja in for another kiss. They only came up for air when they heard the oven door slam.

The pair turned and walked into the kitchen, warm and suffused with the smell of cinnamon and nutmeg. Trays of cinnamon rolls in every state covered practically every flat surface. On the staff tables, pans covered with tea towels had dough proofing a second time. Four pans were ready to go into the huge ovens. Enid stood at the main work table, hair pulled back in a bun, flour on her hands, face, and neck. In front of her was a swath of rolled out dough she had slathered in butter, sugar, and spice, her fingers working deftly to roll the mass into a log for cutting. On seeing the new arrivals, she nodded toward the coffee urns. 

“Stop sucking face out there, and come get a cup and a plate! The fresh ones just got iced, right there,” she instructed, her teasing apparent as she pointed to a tray of gorgeous, golden-brown pastries slathered in a sugary, vanilla glaze.

“Shit! Ya ain’t got to tell me twiced,” Daryl said, eyeing the magnificent rolls before following Jesus to the coffee urns. Paul handed him a mug and a bread plate, but Daryl shook his head. “Jus’ eat ‘em off the pan. Save on washin’ up.” 

“He’s got a point.” Carol’s familiar, cheerful voice chimed in behind them as she and Dianne made their way in. Dianne stopped to fill cups of coffee for herself and Carol.

“Be right back!” Paul yelled, running past the new arrivals. “Gotta pee!”

“When ya gotta go,” Dianne shrugged waving as he ran past.

“Wow!” Carol exclaimed as she walked into the kitchen proper, thoroughly checking out Enid’s overnight handiwork. “Did you get _any_ sleep, honey?”

Enid shook her head. Although her smile was weary, her voice rang of excitement at being able to show off her skills to someone of Carol’s caliber. “I’m good. I’ll catch some sleep once everyone is fed and on the road. Could you guys take these finished trays out to the dining hall for people to grab once they come in? And, Aunt Carol, would you put those two trays in that oven and set the timer for twenty-five minutes? Thanks!”

“Of course, sweetie! I can’t wait to try one, or three!” Carol laughed.

Carol carried out Enid’s request, leaving a mug of coffee right where Enid could get to it. Then she picked up a finished tray and headed out to join the others in the dining hall. Maggie was already seated at the massive formal dining table, Lil Hellraiser awake and peering around quietly in her arms. Paul had returned and took a mug from Daryl.

“She is amazing,” Dianne said. 

“She always has been,” Maggie added. “Wouldn’t be able to make it without Enid.”

“Reminds me of somebody else,” Paul said, smiling at Carol and offering a rolls from the tray he was carrying. Daryl caught her eye and gave her a half smile.

“Thanks, honey,” Carol said, taking a roll and giving the scout a wink. She put it on a plate for Maggie, then took another for herself, paper napkin in hand.

More people were starting to flood into the kitchen and dining hall. Within a few minutes, Rosita and Michonne had arrived and helped to finish off one of the trays. Daryl picked it up and walked back into the kitchen where Enid was still toiling away, singing some old pop tune to herself as she finished arranging a new set of rolls on a pan and covering them with a towel before setting them aside to rise again.

“Hey,” the redneck said, getting her attention for a moment. 

“Everything okay?” Enid asked.

Daryl picked up another tray to take back in to the dining hall, but first, he inclined his head toward the tray full of cinnamon rolls as he spoke quietly. “Carol better watch her fuckin’ back. She’s finally got some real competition around here. Yer right on ‘er heels, hon.” 

With that, Daryl leaned down and put a kiss on top of her head. Enid’s response was a smile so bright it could have melted stone. Daryl stepped back into the dining hall and left her happily singing and baking away.

Daryl knew Enid had been a little upset about not being selected to go on the run; however, he and Paul had reassured her that it was not about her age or lack of capability. She had more than proven herself during the war. Regardless, the pair convinced her that with so many people gone, Maggie would be depending on _her new sister_ more than ever to pick up the slack and to help ensure that things ran smoothly here at Hilltop. More importantly, they reminded Enid that she was family too, and both Paul and Daryl would be depending on her to watch Maggie’s back while they were away.

“You gonna have to step up yer game,” he said to Carol as he sauntered back into the dining hall and set down the new tray.

“It’s not a competition!” Carol exclaimed, laughing back at him. “She’s learning and that’s good, but I don’t want her feeling like she has to stay up all night just to impress the guests.”

“Come on, Carol” MIchonne chided jovially. “If you were her age and had Martha Stewart or Nigella Lawson coming over to visit? Wouldn’t you be pulling out all the stops?”

Carol sighed and nodded. “Yeah, I guess, but I’m neither of those.”

“You are to us,” Paul declared.

“Yep,” Rosita agreed.

“Martha Stewart—Oh! The K-mart lady!” Daryl said. Then, he looked puzzled. “Who’s Nigella Lawson?”

Michonne just shook her head and started giggling.

“Hey,” Daryl defended. “If she wasn’t on the wrestling channel or CMT…”

“It’s okay, bubba,” said Maggie, trying not to laugh at the brawny man.

“Paula Deen,” said Paul as way of analogy.

The redneck’s eyes lit up. “Oh, shit! Hell yeah, Carol! Yer like Paula Deen!”

“But without the whole _losing-a-corporate-empire-to-racist-comments-thing_ ,” added Paul, smiling.

“Well,” said Carol, shaking her head at this absurdist stream of consciousness the conversation had taken, “I don’t know if I use that much butter.”

Aaron and Gracie entered with Siddiq. 

“Something smells divine!” Aaron said.

“Enid is making magic in the kitchen today,” Siddiq agreed. He reached over and took Gracie from Aaron. “Let’s go see her, Gracie! We will find you some applesauce and juice too! Yes, c’mon, sweet girl.”

Aaron grabbed a napkin and a roll. Dianne put a cup of coffee in front of him. 

“Good morning, fellow retrieval and procurement specialists,” Eugene entailed as he walked in with Dillon, Brooke, and several Saviors making their way in, following the scent of the baked pastries and heading toward the coffee urns. 

“Good morning!” said Paul, enthusiastically. Please help yourselves. 

“Hold it!” Eugene said just as one of his group was about to touch the tray. “Per our commander Dwight’s express orders, and I quote, ‘Saviors serve first, they protect first, they die first. They eat, sleep, and partake last.’”

Rosita’s huff was undeniable.

Eugene turned to Maggie. “Have everyone else been fed?”

“We haven’t seen Oceanside or Jerry and his squad yet,” Maggie answered honestly. “And my men haven’t come in from shift change. I expect that will happen directly.”

“Speak of the devil,” said Paul as Tara, Cyndie, Jerry, Kal, and Eduardo walked in. 

“Eugene, I am making an executive decision on Dwight’s behalf, because y’all are our guests here. While we appreciate the gesture, I want to let everybody, especially the new iteration of the Saviors, know that we are extending them our true hospitality,” said Maggie. “Plus, you are family. Now, y’all go on and eat and get some coffee. The last thing I want to do is to stand in the way of today’s events.”

Rosita was silent as a tomb and still as a statue. Eugene nodded at Maggie and said, “Well, folks, you heard Maggie. Chow time is now. I suggest we get to it, and be sure to thank our hosts. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Maggie nodded. 

Eugene and company moved along.

“’Cause that wasn’t awkward at all,” said Rosita. Maggie put a hand on her shoulder.

“Okay, did anyone see me sleep-eating last night?” asked Tara. “Apparently, I did, and I hate that I don’t even remember eating anything.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Aaron.

“I mean, I remember _eating_ —“ She looked at Cyndie. Rosita and Dianne burst out laughing. Carol was patting Michonne on the back to keep her from choking on the scalding coffee.

“Atta girl,” said Aaron, raising his mug to toast them. “Get it! Get it!”

Cyndie covered her face with her hand. Tara just stared at the ceiling. Both were blushing brightly.

“Now who looks like a stop sign?” asked Daryl, leaning back with an elbow on the sideboard and crossing his feet. To Paul, he looked utterly irresistible with that brilliant smile showing off perfect teeth and his sun-kissed skin.

“Oh, like you didn’t get some last night,” Tara quipped.

“You damn right, I did. Got me some this mornin’, too!” Daryl admitted, licking his lower lip, his vast chest swelling. They gave each other a fist-bump, and the strapping god-of-a-hunter bit his bottom lip, looked over, and winked pointedly at Paul. “’Sup, baby?” 

Jesus nodded, a grin breaking out into a happy smile, an undeniable admission of guilt, utterly impossible to hide. "We totally did," he confessed. 

A peel of laughter rang through the hall. 

“The _point is_ ,” Cyndie said, bringing the conversation back and trying to hide her blush, “we woke up with Tara cradling this in her arms this morning. She must have sleepwalked out of the room, picked it up, and brought it back with her.” She was pointing to Carol’s empty cookie container still in Tara’s left hand.

“So now we know who got that last of the cookies!” exclaimed Carol.

“And you don’t even remember doing it? That totally sucks!” said Paul, consolingly. “Let’s get you ladies some coffee and some of Enid’s fabulous cinnamon rolls.” 

Daryl watched, his face a bemused mask, as Paul led the ladies toward the coffee urns, taking Daryl’s mug to refill it for him. Their eyes locked for half a second, communicating their mutual adoration.

_You hot-as-fuck, big-dick, motherfucker o’ mine! You are slicker than boiled okra!_

 

****

 

The first of the teams began to drive away from Hilltop with two of the groups—Eugene and Dillon, and Carol and Dianne following Jadis toward central Virginia. Daryl and Paul had hugged their family and watched Aaron and Michonne head toward West Virginia while Tara and Cyndie ventured back with their team toward the triangle area of North Carolina, eventually circling round to come back up along the coast. Daryl’s group had loaded up and started their three vehicles. Brooke had the first shift on the large Ryder moving truck and would trade out at the end of the day. As it turns out, she hadn’t just driven the little mail trucks around before it all went to shit. She actually had experience with the big rigs the former USPS had as part of their fleet. Her partner was Randy who, while he wasn’t the greatest driver, was a pretty good shot.

Russell and Marjory, the pair who’d relocated from the Kingdom to Alexandria, were driving behind Brooke in a Nissan X-Terra with Dante and Mandy. While the vehicle got shit for mileage, it had four-wheel drive and was sturdy. Daryl and Paul had a Cadillac CTS they had boosted from outside a government building in Alexandria proper just outside of D.C. Waiting in the back seat were Clay and Neil from the Kingdom. 

Daryl walked with a calm grace alongside his little ninja, his arm across Paul’s shoulder. Paul in turn held him by the waist. They’d just finished hugging Maggie and Enid and were making their way out of the gate to their vehicles. Kal and Eduardo stood watch, spears at the ready. 

“Hey, Kal!” Jesus yelled. “Earl needs some of that fat lighter wood to make his charcoal later on this morning.”

“I’m on it!” the man said, turning and jogging back in the gates.

“Hey, man,” Daryl said, catching Eduardo’s dark eyes. 

“Hey, fellas. You guys be careful out there,” Eduardo cautioned. “We’re gonna miss you.”

“Thanks, man,” Paul nodded.

The level of awkwardness ratcheted up a couple of notches. Eduardo fiddled with the drawstring of his favorite faded-red hoodie.

“It’s cool, man,” Daryl finally said, nodded and then meeting Eduardo’s eyes. “Be sweet to ‘er. She deserves somebody nice. Somebody who’ll care for ‘er. Somebody like you.”

Eduardo nodded and smiled back. “No worries, man. She’s the real deal.”

Daryl nodded, and turned to walk away, the he stopped and turned back. 

“Hey!” Daryl yelled. “Here!” He tossed Eduardo a spare crossbow bolt. The man caught it.

“What’s this for?” Eduardo asked, grinning and admiring a gift from _the_ Daryl Dixon.

“It’s a reminder,” explained Daryl, stepping back up into Eduardo’s face, his voice an icy portent. “’Cause if you hurt ‘er, the next one is gonna come **_a lot fucking faster_**. You pickin’ up what I’m puttin’ down, son?”

Eduardo swallowed. The handsome, young guardian’s grin had vanished, and he nodded his head in jerky, nervous movements, his top knot shaking frantically.

“I didn’t quite catch that,” Daryl practically spat.

“Yes, sir!” Eduardo blurted. “I got it!”

“Good,” Daryl said, then turned to get into the driver’s seat.

Paul waved to Eduardo and got into the car. Once the door was shut, Daryl drove out with Brooke and Dante following behind. 

“What was that about?” asked Neil.

Daryl just stared back through the rearview mirror, then returned his eyes to the road with a grunt.

“Family matter,” Paul explained, then leaned down to pick up a huge book of CDs. “Okay, Daryl. Since you’re driving first, you get first music pick. I arranged these alphabetically, so we have some ABBA, AC/DC—”

“Got any Fleetwood Mac?” Daryl interjected.

“Nice choice!” Paul agreed. “And yes, here we are.” He loaded the CD into the slot on the dash. For the next two hours, Stevie Nicks, Christine McVie, and Lindsay Buckingham were blaring along with Paul throughout the extended double-disc set. As Paul handed the CD book to their compatriots in the back seat, Daryl noticed a small tote bag in the floorboard by Paul’s feet. 

“What’s that?” he inclined his head.

Paul looked over with a knowing smile.

“You’ll find out,” the scout answered quietly. The young man did that bedroom eyes thing, where he opened those beautiful eyes wide and then closed them to half-lidded all in about a half a second. That was always a promise of good things to come (or to cum, in their case). Daryl’s own leer faded when he looked back at the road and slowed down, seeing a few walkers shambling along in the middle of the road. He came to a stop and the four of the got out of the Caddy while their convoy slowed to a stop to wait for them. 

“Were you really mad at Eduardo? I thought you were cool with it,” Paul inquired as he stepped to the shoulder of the highway, leading two of the walkers out of their intended path. When he had lured it close enough, Paul drew a knife and stuck a walker in the eye socket, penetrating the brain and dropping the now inanimate corpse. A second was right behind it, but Paul’s spin kick brought it to the ground where he could plunge the knife into the base of its skull. The walker’s ragged noise stopped.

“I’m totally cool with it. Really,” Daryl answered with a slight smile, drawing his own pair of walkers away. “But, ya know, since you an’ me ain’t havin’ no kids—“ he said, stabbing the first walker in the temple and moving to the next to repeat, ”—not without some serious divine intervention—I honestly did it just cuz I’ve always wanted to say some cold-blooded shit like that to the man who’d want to date my daughter, an' that was sorta my chance.” He finished off the second with a blade thrust under the jaw to snap it shut with a sickening crack like a rock on a windshield, the blade going all the way up into the frontal lobe. He pulled it out and shoved the corpse down the shallow embankment.

“You are too much, Daryl Dixon!” Jesus laughed.

“Yep!” Daryl agreed, sighing and smiling back at the man with whom he was so inescapably lost in love.

 

****

 

“Guys? Check this out.” 

Clay’s voice caught everyone’s attention. The young man had just taken over driving for the second shift of Day 2. Before all this, he’d been a law student at Vanderbilt; he'd hated every minute of it.

“Was this here when you guys last made a run through here?” asked Neil. 

“Nuhn-uh,” grunted Daryl. "Wasn't here two weeks ago when me and Paul came through. It's on the way to the Sanctuary, and none o' them reported it last night. Ain't like Eugene to miss sump'n that obvious."

Neil was closer to what once would have been retirement age, but he was still spry, and his mind was sharp as a tack. He had been a local news anchor by trade before everything changed. He was also writing a chronicle of the Five Communities for posterity. His wife, Kathleen, was one of the green-thumb garden gurus of the Kingdom. Daryl, Paul, and Carol had agreed that she could grow a goddamn oak tree from a cut leaf in a cup of water on a windowsill. Daryl knew how much the couple were respected by Carol and Paul, and he figured Paul had wanted Neil to come along because he had really good people skills and he was recognizable to potential locals as a friendly face. Hell, even Daryl liked him and enjoyed listening to his stories; it was like having the community’s very own Dan Rather along for the adventure.

_I bet Neil and Kathleen would have been rollin’ with Dale and Irma for damn sure._

Earlier that morning, their team had gone through a small town that the Saviors had previously hit. In fact, Daryl remembered getting shot at, along with Abraham and Sasha, on this particular road. Abe had also found a set of RPGs and an M-16 rifle, all of which had come in handy. A few streets over from that spot, they found an old clothing manufacturing company. Inside, they found bolts of cloth, tons of needles, pins, and thread, and about 30 high-quality sewing machines: things that they could flag for another run. After stopping for lunch and to refuel, they had switched up drivers. They had just started onto a divided highway for about 10 minutes when the young man spoke up.

Now, Daryl leaned forward next to Paul and peered through the windshield and down the road as they began to slow to a stop about thirty yards behind the vehicle. 

“Got sump’n up ahead. Look sharp,” Daryl announced into the walkie-talkie. He could see Dante and Mandy stepping out, weapons at the ready, and moving up to flank the roadway and cover the truck.

Daryl and Paul got out of the Caddy and looked around. Daryl held his crossbow up, scanning for danger as he and Paul moved toward the reason for the impromptu stop.

A silver Land Rover SUV was parked in the right lane, wheels only slightly on the shoulder of the road. The windows were down.

Randy's low voice came through the walkie-talkie. "That wasn't here yesterday, D." Confirmation that it was recent. 

Daryl stepped closer. Something caught his eye. It had a Georgia license plate, Liberty county to be exact. 

_Fort Stewart. Military town._

He pointed it out to Paul. “From somewhere near Fort Stewart. Hinesville, Georgia.”

“Close to home?” Paul asked, eyes watching the vehicle.

“Nah. Army Air Base. A military town near Savannah. S’where Merle always had to report in to when he was in the military. The last place he was shipped out of,” Daryl explained; he hadn’t added that it was before the asshole got high, nearly beat a superior officer to death, and was subsequently discharged. 

He nodded to Paul who dropped low to check under the truck and then stepped up to peer inside carefully, his .9mm Glock with silencer ready. Daryl scanned the wood line while Paul opened the door. The vehicle was empty. The keys were still in it, and the battery worked, but the gas gauge read empty.

“Somebody’s on foot.”

“Daryl,” Paul said, pointing. The scout pointed ahead to a small crossroad. The landscape was part of a rolling set of small hills which descended from south to north. To the north, the land lowered to give clear view, and there was a giant community park of some kind behind a long chain-link fence. The tops of soccer goals peaked out of the overgrowth to identify the place’s former purpose. To the south, the hill rose and the overgrowth had all but obscured a small sign with a red and blue stylized arrow that read: Fuel. 

“Let’s check this out,” Daryl said. He instructed the others to stay put while he and Paul checked out the situation.

“Rule Two,” Brooke reminded. She had stepped out of the moving truck and moved up beside the pair to cover them, a 12-gauge pump-action shotgun in her hands and her stance a clear indication of her ability to use it effectively. The redneck nodded back to her and turned to signal Paul to accompany him.

Paul nodded, and pulled his bandana up over his face. The duo moved forward quickly and turned south, heading up an inclined drive. At the top, they found an abandoned strip mall of about four or five small shops. The glass was intact. There was also a building that had once been part of the Outback Steakhouse chain as evident by the aquamarine color of the roof, but it looked to have been boarded up long before the fall. Further in, there was a vast building in faded white, with what was once red and blue accents, and a huge parking lot with fuel pumps to one side, now hidden among the weeds and fennel. A large, weathered sign out front had once indicated that this property was for rent. None of this was visible from the road, a road they had driven dozens of times. 

_There’s nothing left in this world that isn’t hidden._

“This was some kind of wholesale club,” Paul whispered. “Like Sam’s or Costco. Looks like it went out of business around the time the restaurant did.”

“Thank you, Glenn,” Daryl whispered. Paul gave him a soft smile.

The clang of metal pulled their attention, and they both dropped and raised their weapons. Slowly, over the course of several minutes, they made their way forward breaking apart to flank the fueling area, keeping track of each other as they got closer. They could hear voices: ominous threats, pleas of mercy, derisive laughter. Daryl watched as Paul signaled ready. The hunter signaled back to move closer. The voices became more frantic; there was the sound of furious struggles, multiple strikes and grunts of effort. 

Then came the screams.


	5. Goldilocks and the Three Russian Bears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl and Paul run into strangers who seem to know a lot and are willing to make a great deal.

**_About 2 hours earlier_ **

“How many?” asked the older woman, leaning on the hood of the Land Rover.

“Ten people, three vehicles,” replied the tall man. “One of them’s a moving truck.”

“So, they must come from somewhere nearby,” a second man stated. “That’s good, right?” He started unfolding a marked map onto the hood for the three of them to check. 

“Means they’re scavenging. Probably low on resources,” the woman postulated. The information they had procured from the two brigands the week before had been vital. 

“Okay, let’s put together what we know,” the tall man said, lowering the binoculars, turning away from the road, and crouching down next to the woman and their map. “So, there are distinct factions at these points: the beach; the school; the factory; the subdivision; the museum. Something in the dynamic has changed. The factory had the most people and resources, but it’s been overthrown by the rest, a bunch killed or scattered, and the former leader—some guy calling himself “Negan”—has been captured and imprisoned here. Another two groups were decimated. One was feral.”

“If not rabid, but there are still pockets out there. They’re desperate, and they’re dangerous. These Wolves and former Saviors are grouping up and going savage,” the woman said. 

Their last encounter with that feral tribe had cost them dearly, and there had been vengeance. It had also been that way for a group from the factory a few months ago. That encounter had supplied them with two vehicles, weapons, and food at a nearly desperate time. She still had the ampules, just in case. “Were you able to recover the—?”

“No. Someone had already ransacked the National Guard Center and the FEMA camp he mentioned,” he replied. The carnival must have been there before the end. A fall festival; he remembered those.

“I’m betting they used the majority of it in their conflict,” she countered.

“Yes, with an outpost of the factory—Sanctuary, they call it—here,” he said, pointing to a spot on the map about twelve miles away. “They were trying to make munitions.”

“Can we use it?”

“Maybe. It’s serviceable, but the results are unreliable. Given what they said about this Dr. Eugene Porter fellow I don’t know if that was deliberate or not.”

“Still it may be all we have. We need every advantage,” she stated.

“I know, but there are still two depots, the relay station, and the safe-house. Now, we just have to get to them before they do.”

“Steven, we don’t even know if those are still viable,” the woman replied. 

“Add in this: this team they were followin’,” the second man said, still looking down at the road. “These bastards were interested in the two men leading it. They figure if they followed them, they’d find some useful goods, and then these nasty-ass muthafuckers sweep in, kill ‘em off, and steal the lot out from under ‘em, yeah?” 

The other two nodded.

“If these two guys are that good, they’re going to find at least one, if not all, of the places were lookin’ for,” said the second man gravely. 

“I know,” the tall man agreed, looking back at her worried face. He took off his black baseball cap; there was some restaurant name on it: _Nic & Norman’s_. He ran a hand back through his long blonde hair, now well past his shoulders. Sighing, he put the cap back on backwards. He knew what they had to do, too. “The leaders seem to fit the description we were given.”

“Then it’s time to reach out. Once we’re all in, and _safe_ , then we go on to Langley. If there are answers, we’ll find them there. We can use one of the depots as a bargaining tool,” she admitted, then looked over at the second man who just shrugged. “And if necessary…” She didn’t have to finish the sentence.

“Hey,” the second man said, running a dirty sleeve over his face to wipe sweat. His voice was low and serious. “We need to consider the alternative here: It may be that there are good people in these communities. After all, they locked up an opposing leader—a _raging lunatic_ who made an example by beating people to death with a barbwire-laden baseball bat, which this same, crazy-ass-muthafucka named Lucille; I don’t know—maybe he was a B.B. King fan or thought he was Ricky fucking Ricardo—all I know is that they imprisoned him rather than kill him outright. Now that sounds a whole lot more like civilized folk than frontier justice. I smell a cop.”

The tall man nodded, took the older woman’s hand, and squeezed reassuringly. “We’re not down for the count yet.”

The trio put away the map and binoculars, and made their way back to a Land Rover SUV.

 

****

 

**_One hour earlier_ **

“Stop here,” the tall man advised. “We’re almost out anyway.”

The older woman brought the SUV to a smooth stop and cut off the engine. They waited thirty minutes, looking out of the windows and finding no movement from anywhere around them. It was very peaceful, a return to nature. That did not bode well for them.

“No perimeter guard,” said the woman. “We should have been spotted by now. Detained,” she noted, crooking an eyebrow and cocking her head. “Or shot at. Unless…” 

The tall man didn’t want to think about that; he’d rather stay on course, focused, but the new reality required consideration of every possibility, even those they dreaded. 

“Could be full of reanimated. Could be torched. Could have already been looted.” He gave a heavy sigh. “Or, they could be watching to see if we move on or try to come in; and if we come in, do they engage, or do they hide from us?”

That sat in quiet assessment for another moment. 

“Be right back.” The tall man started to shift and had his right hand on the latch when the woman took his left hand and squeezed. He looked back.

“Twenty. Minutes,” she said. Her voice rang with a stern quality, hard as steel and non-negotiable. He knew she would be keeping time.

The older woman nodded silently and watched as the tall man quietly opened the door, closed it carefully, and began to run. The soft grass at the shoulder of the embankment kept his footfalls as quiet as possible as he made his way to a crossroad ahead, turning south and following the directional arrow on a long-faded fuel sign. 

The woman tried to focus on her breathing. She glanced into the back seat to see the legs of their compatriot all curled up behind her. She was glad the man had finally succumbed to his fatigue. Lack of sleep eventually caught up with everyone, even the best assets. In many ways, with as much as they’d all been through together, she hated to classify him as such, but in the end, she realized there was no other way for her to think. Options had been buried away for so long that she doubted she’d have had even the slightest notion of how to think that way anymore. 

Thirteen minutes left.

She didn’t want to think about it, but the best operatives knew their own weaknesses. Hers was fear of change. She was out of her element, stripped of resources, and forced to change her mindset. That meant she had to acknowledge a great deal of regret. There were two specific points she thought about: one in 1987, and one in 2004. If she’d gone with protocol, instead of her gut, she’d be dead—or worse, one of the reanimated. She reached into her pocket and fiddled with the metal cord. 

Seven minutes left.

The boy she’d known was all grown up now. Her decisions and influence had shaped him. She thought she had successfully broken him for good, eliminated him from the equation. To the fury of her superiors and her own utter dismay, Operation: Rasputin had failed gloriously. It was because of her that he was so good now. If things had been different from the start, he would be her crowning achievement, the keystone in undermining adversaries and solidifying strategic successes. But as it stood, they were here: the survivors of more than an apocalypse. For so long, they had been locked in a tangle of love and hate, truth and lies, respect and contempt. And after it all, there was no one in the world she trusted more. She knew he felt the same.

Three minutes left.

She wiped a tear from her cheek and sniffed one, then pulled down the sun-visor to flip open the vanity mirror. She took the clip out of her hair, ran her fingers through her hair, and let the breeze reach her scalp.

She stopped still as a statue when her eyes caught movement. Rounding the foliage by the fuel sign, the tall man slowed to a walk and signaled all clear. She almost startled herself when she exhaled; she hadn’t realized she was holding her breath.

The tall man opened the passenger door and climbed back in. 

“It looks intact. There are a seven cars and nineteen reanimated, but nothing we can’t handle. Let’s go.”

She turned the key. The motor sputtered.

“Stop, stop, stop,” the tall man said, reaching over to turn off the engine.

“Damn it,” the woman muttered, shaking her head in frustration.

“Better to do it now while gas still gets to the carburetor,” Steve advised. 

He turned in his seat and reached into the back seat to wake their companion. “Kirby,” he said calmly, patting the sleeping man with care. The tired man had taken to sleeping with a hand on his pistol ever since the incident in Charleston. He’d almost shot Lev in the face before when roused unexpectedly and without care.

The tired man stirred quickly and sat up, rubbing his face. “Yeah. What’s goin’ on?”

“We’re here,” the tall man advised. “Let’s go.”

Together, they stepped out, scanned their surroundings, and opened the back hatch to gather up three large gas canisters, and long plastic hose and a bicycle pump. They made their way together up the old driveway to the fuel depot. 

The weather was warm, but the clouds were clearing out. Autumn was definitely making itself at home in Virginia. It had been cool this morning and it would be colder tonight. Thanks to the rain yesterday, they had water for two more days.

As they reached the summit, they could see a strip mall, a boarded up restaurant, the fuel station, and the hulk of the shopping club.

“BJs, right?” asked the woman. She pointed to a faded logo sticker on one of the fuel pumps.

“Yeah,” Steve replied. “We made it.”

“Hmph. Last time I got a blow job, MTV played actual music videos,” groused Kirby. “That’s not funny, Evie.”

Walkers turned to move toward the howls of laughter from the far end of the parking lot.

 

****

 

**_Five minutes earlier_ **

“It’s comin’ good now,” said Kirby, steadily working the air pump. “Glad we didn’t have to siphon it up.” He glanced up to see Evie smiling back at him as she capped the second five-gallon gas can.

“Just fill that up with a gallon, and we’ll walk it back down and put it in the tank. Then, we can drive back up, fill up all the way, and refill the cans,” Evie proposed.

{We’re being stalked.} Steve’s voice was low and deliberate; the language was Russian. 

Evie’s smile didn’t change at all. Kirby caught the Russian. He didn’t know what the fuck these two were saying, but when that language came out, he knew it meant he had to be ready for anything. The older man put the pump under one foot to prop it, his left hand working the slide bar, the right resting near the hilt of the hold-out knife in his boot sheath. 

“I gotta piss,” Steve said, moving away from the others. He quickly unzipped, took out his penis, and let flow a steady stream.

_Look vulnerable. Look stupid._

He had just started to piss when—

Three men and a woman stepped from the brush.

“Told y’all we’d find ‘em again. Which one y’all want first?” croaked a voice like dried leaves. The young man was filthy. Grime, blood, and only-god-knew-what-else had gathered in the creases of his face and neck. The fabric of the threadbare shirt he wore was full of holes and looked stiff and rotten. His companions looked less that human. They all stank of piss and sour sweat. The woman was missing her front teeth, top and bottom. The tongue sticking between the broken nubs was vulgar and threatening.

Between them: one had two knives; another, a length of metal pipe, jagged at one end: the woman, a length of bicycle chain; the last, a broad ax. 

“It’th like Chrithmuth time,” the girl lisped.

“Yeah, and after, who gets white meat,” said the first man. He looked pointedly at Kirby. “And who gets dark.” 

Steve finished pissing and tucked his dick back in his torn jeans. The man with the broad ax stepped up and swung.

“Get ‘em, Kyle!” screamed the girl. The others followed and rushed the group, blood-curdling screams blaring out.

Steve stepped in close, catching the ax by the haft, twisting with the momentum, and slinging the man around him to the ground. His spin continued until he released the ax; it sunk halfway through the skull of the assailant with the knives. A yell from Kirby had him drop as the older man’s boot knife spun end-over-end just over his black cap, striking the man with the pipe in his throat. 

The girl ran at Kirby, slinging the chain, her voice carrying screams of racial slurs and violent madness. The last thing she saw was Kirby staring her down and the world went green, then black, her air and blood cut off. Her ragged nails dug for purchase against the skin of her own throat, trying to get behind the tight metal cord that held her. A knife to her temple ended it. Evie dropped the corpse and slipped the garrote from around its neck.

A sickening realization hit the last bandit; the hunters had become the prey. He turned to run. Moved behind him like a flash. A strike to the lower spine would drive him to his knees. A twist of his neck would—.

An arrow suddenly popped from the back of the miscreant’s skull. Steve skidded to a halt, signaling the others to get down.

 

****

 

Daryl watched as the small group—fairly decent, even cleaner than his family had been on their long journey up to Virginia—made short work of the Wolves, or whatever they were now. 

_Still got fuckin’ W’s carved into their damn foreheads._

These people were dangerous. The guy at the pump had slung a knife like a pro. The lady had cowered like she was helpless, then moved like a snake, put a cord around the attacker’s throat and a knee in her back, and choked the life out of her, probably even crushed her windpipe. And the big guy, he was the strongest and fastest. Was he smart too?

_Was that a piano wire? Are these guys gangsters? Enforcers? Mob bosses? Hit men?_

One of the filthy cannibal fuckers ran right at him. It couldn’t be helped. He let the bolt fly, then reloaded as fast as his strong practiced hands could manage. The old man had reached into his coat pocket and drawn a .380 pistol. 

_They’ve got guns. They’re smart. Fought without using loud weapons unless they had to or felt threatened._

“Hold it!” came Paul’s voice. He stepped forward, his brilliant blue eyes shining above the bandana. The big man kept looking Daryl’s direction. He knew the arrow had come from there. “Guns down, hands where I can see them!”

Daryl eased forward, his eyes never leaving the big, long-haired blonde with the doe-brown eyes. The guy was taller than Rick which meant he was at least six-five. 

“Don’t even think about it, Sunshine,” Daryl commanded. If this guy had any sense of self-preservation, he’d know Daryl meant it. “Keep them hands where I can see ‘em. Move over there, nice and slow.” He nodded towards the man’s companions.

Steve stepped back over to Kirby and Evie, his hands out and open in compliance, his brown eyes still on Daryl. 

“Turn around,” Daryl ordered.

“You wouldn’t shoot a man in the back, would ya, Daryl?” said the big man, turning around. There was a bemused smile on his face as he glanced at Paul. “You must be Jesus. You guys are from the Hilltop.” 

“How the fuck do you—?“ Daryl snarled.

“Please,” Evie said. “We have come a long way, and we are willing to share. We’ve been out here a very long time.”

Daryl glared down the sight of the crossbow. 

“My name is Evie,” the woman said. “This is Kirby and Steve. We may be able to help each other.”

“You wanna lower that crossbow, hillbilly.” Kirby said. The older black man’s glare was a match for Daryl’s any day of the week. “This ain’t gonna be no scene from Deliverance.”

“Good,” came Paul’s friendly voice as he stepped in, lowering his gun and his bandana. “’Cause I _hated_ that movie.”

“You still ain’t answered the question,” Daryl demanded, his weapon still trained on the tall man.

“We were accosted and threatened by some people who said they were ‘Negan.’ That ring a bell?” Steve eased back around to face them. “We convinced them to give us information on the current groups around here. You’re both popular along with the King, the Widow, and Rick.”

Daryl’s grip on the crossbow tightened. Out of nowhere, Kirby had the hand-cannon drawn and trained.

“Last warning, redneck! Savannah PD! Lower that bow, or I’m gonna clean your sinuses.”

Paul’s gun had come back up, sights fixed on the older man. “Don’t even.” The martial artist’s voice was the coldest, deadliest utterance Daryl had ever heard fall from those beautiful lips.

“Ain’t no such thang as police anymore,” Daryl countered.

“Please! Everyone stop!” Evie said. “We have something to share!” She put her hand on the detective’s arm. The officer lowered his gun, but his glare was still intense. 

“You ain’t got nothing!” Daryl countered. “You’re outta gas and outta luck if you think this place’s got anything left. Been shut down and boarded up since before everything went down. As for that,” he continued, jutting his chin toward the old wholesale club building. “That’s there’s death by Wal-Wart.”

Steve smiled. “Prove it.”

“Ain’t gotta,” Daryl quipped. Paul stepped over and placed a hand on Daryl’s shoulder. With a heavy sigh, the archer finally lowered the crossbow, biceps bulging.

“All right,” Paul said. He was no longer smiling and very wary of the newcomers. “Here’s how this will work. Put your weapons down here, next to the gas—knives and all.”

Kirby shook his head, but Evie again put her arm on his shoulder. She had already dropped the garrote onto the cracked concrete. The detective place his gun on the gas pump platform. He pulled another knife from behind the back of his shirt. Steve lifted his shirt, took the Sig Sauer out of the back of his waistband, and placed it next to Kirby’s Smith & Wesson. He turned clearly, reached into his shirt at the back of the neckline and drew two matte black throwing knives from a specialized harness under his shirt, letting them clatter to the concrete. 

“Huh,” Paul concluded, looking at the specialized knives, then bringing his gaze back to the trio at hand. “Well, okay then. Now, if you have any more people with you, you need to have them come out peacefully right now. There won’t be a second chance.” 

“It’s just us,” Evie said. 

“We’ll save show-and-tell for when our team is gathered,” the scout announced, then motioned with the pistol to usher them forward. “You guys are gonna come with us. Just head back down the road. Our folks are waiting at your car.” 

The trio started ahead. The twang of the crossbow caught everyone by surprise as Daryl launched a bolt into the head of one of the former (current?) Wolves who was starting to turn. Daryl pulled the arrow out of the skull with a sickening sound, checked to make sure it was still serviceable, and reloaded.

 

****

 

“So, this is the big reveal, huh?” Daryl groused in the dark of the huge, empty building. “S’a crocka shit, man.” He shook his head at Paul. “They’re playin’ us.”

They had broken into one of the back security doors of the former megastore. Apparently, it had been done before by at least one other set of looters. Daryl had known it was too good to be true. The place was exceptionally dark, missing sky light windows like other places might have had to add to cut down on lighting needs. Once they had enough light added from flashlights, more opened doors, and loading bays, the mood among the team plummeted even further. There weren’t even the stock shelves, display tables, or freezer units—just bare floor. No shopping carts, no pallet lifters. 

“May I?” he asked, taking a flashlight from Randy. The former Savior handed it over, curious as to what the tall guy was looking for in an empty warehouse.

Steve shined the light in one of the darker corners, found what he was looking for, and called out, “Over here!” 

He stepped over to the main breaker panels. He switched off the flashlight for a second, looking for something. Daryl stepped up next to Paul; he was ready to bring up the crossbow and fire.

“There,” Steve said, followed by a click, and the large panel swung open.

 _That shouldn’t do that._

Behind the panel, a green LED light blinked on a panel. 

“Wait! This place has power?” Daryl asked.

“Power,” Steve replied as he punched some buttons in a sequence. “And a lot more. Ultra-grade solar panels with sun-follow sensors are located on the roof, hidden behind the roofline.” 

A section of the wall split along the sheetrock, or rather, some kind of tape that was meant to look like sheetrock, at least at a forward angle, kind of like an overlapping seal. Steve stepped over and pushed it in. The hidden door slid to the right, revealing a metal ladder. He began to descend. 

“Hey!” Daryl started. Paul pressed his chest.

“Let’s see where it goes. This can’t be hokey coincidence.”

Daryl snorted once, but then nodded his agreement.

“You sweet, Thor-lookin’ sonofabitch!” Kirby whispered. He and Evie were grinning to each other and began to laugh and hug.

“We’re in!’ called Steve’s voice from below. The sound of a large circuit closing was met with light from the tunnel. Paul was next on the ladder, then Daryl, Mandy, Dante, Evie, and Kirby. The others remained topside to keep watch. They descended 15 meters beneath the building to find a landing at the bottom.

Paul turned from the ladder to find an open, reinforced pressure door. Beyond was a large, concrete room. The air was musty and stale, but he could hear and feel the rush of cool air coming from the nearest vent. Daryl stepped in beside him, looking all around at the pallets, shrink-wrapped and marked with stick-on inventory tags. Daryl felt a grip on his hand as Kirby and Evie walked past them to let the others gather inside the doorway behind the hunter and the scout. He looked at Paul who was pointing at one of the tags: **Property of the United States of America - Central Intelligence Agency Depot #FS-368-30.**

“Holy shit, Daryl!” Paul whispered, looking back at his only love, then wide-eyed at the trio before them.

Steven stepped back up with his compatriots flanking him, a smile on his face, and a remote in hand. He touched a button and circuits closed, every contact ringing with illumination of another row of lights, and rows of stores three stories high. It went the length and width of the wholesale club above and the entire parking lot.

“I’m sure you have questions,” Evie said. “And we’re happy to answer all of them—“

Paul looked at Daryl and nodded. The hunter set his jaw, nodded, and turned back to look at the trio.

“How many walkers you killed?”

 

****

 

The answers are disturbing, not just because of the actual numbers, but because they must each note that some of the kills are from before the dead began to walk. Detective Kirby Caruthers, a law enforcement officer of over 28 years—23 of those as a homicide detective—had killed three people in the line of duty. Of the dead, he had stopped counting at when the number exceeded his age (50 at the time). In the now, he had killed 34 people. 

“I didn’t wanna have to do it,” the detective explained, sitting one of the high-backed executive chairs at the conference room table. They had shifted to the room which also had an office at the back, containing a physical inventory manifest and a laptop that was now charging on the desk. Hopefully, there was a digital copy as well.

“I never wanted to do it, but there were lives and security at stake,” Kirby explained. His voice was thick and his words deliberate. “I’m not sayin’ I am a saint—far from it. But the rules we lived by aren’t there anymore, and the struggle goes on, just like these goddamned reanimated—the walkers, as you call ‘em.” He shrugged and shook his head. “In the end, it’s not about how many, or who, or even what the circumstances were. It’s about protecting your own, and doing your level best to know _when_ to kill and when _not to_.”

“Neither Steven nor I can give you accurate numbers,” Evie answered quietly. “I had 17 kills by my own hand, all in the line of duty. After the Fall, I killed numerous walkers and 29 people because I had to protect myself and others. You have to compartmentalize it, note that it is necessary. I did whatever I had to do. ”

“Were they all CIA related? The ones from before?” asked Mandy.

“I’m sorry,” Evie replied. “We can’t answer specifics about prior operations.”

“Why not?” Daryl shot back. “Ain’t no more USA, Canada, or Mexico; ain’t no more Fourth of July; ain’t no more black or white, no gay or straight, no Christian or Muslim—we all just _people_ : good or bad, livin’ or not. So whatever government secrets you swore to protect? You ain’t keepin’ ‘em for no other reason ‘cept to fool yourself into thinkin’ a government still exists out there somewhere.” His words were harsh, and he knew it. He hadn’t meant for them to be. Hell, he’d been raised on a diet of staunch patriotism—even if right-skewed in the extreme—since before he could recite the Pledge of Allegiance. He glanced over to see Paul looking at him. That gentle look grounded his ire, and he spoke again, much calmer and with more sympathy than before. “It don’t, man. I’m sorry, but it just don’t.”

“I’ve been involved in multiple black ops since the age of 16, wherein I was recruited by the CIA,“ Steve said, breaking the silence; Evie became still as a statue, her face a mask of stone, but her eyes sharp and locked onto her companion as if trying to compel him to be silent. It didn’t work. “I was originally posed as a GRU recruit after having been raised and trained under an old Soviet KGB program Codename: Morpheus. Prior to October 31, 2010, I have 44 confirmed kills by my own hand,” he admitted. “As of today, I have 72 confirmed kills, 6 presumed. I’ve killed 317 walkers.” He gave the words a moment to sink in, staring at his hands before continuing. 

“Before the Fall,” Steve said, leaning against the window that looked out of the conference room and into the main storehouse. “I killed to fulfill my mission parameters, same as Evie. We have done so up close and at great range. We’ve used any means available to get the job done. We were the ones who put foot-to-ass for our country, and we did it so that other people could sleep at night, safe and secure. I’ve lived my life in harm’s way. Maybe that’s a good thing; maybe it got me ready for this world, because I’m here. But others weren’t so lucky. We lost friends—people who became family to us. From the looks on your faces, I’m guessing it’s a recurring story. Lev was GRU officer, one of the best. He died last week, the victim of a booby trap at a cannery. When we found the ones responsible—same as these Wolves out here. I didn’t leave any to carry on such games again.”

Daryl shifted. “Cannery? Off US Number One, south of here?”

Steve nodded.

“The herd trap with the trucks? The one that Morgan rescued you and Aaron from?” Paul asked.

“Bastards, must’ve reset it after he got us outta there,” Daryl snarled, now pacing with irritation. “We didn’t have the manpower to put it down. Never figured they’d be able to reset it.”

“That particular threat has been neutralized,” Evie said. Her eyes had been closed during Steve’s words about their friend, Lev. She had finally opened them.

“We’re killers,” Steve admitted. “But you’ll have to decide whether or not you think we belong.”

“You said you got information on us,” Paul stated. “How?”

“We used what the Bush administration labeled as _enhanced interrogation techniques_ on these so-called Saviors—well, former Saviors—who tried to kill us,” corrected Steve, nodding to Brooke and Randy before continuing. “There were five of them, and they were exceptionally unpleasant. Threatened to violate Evie— _and me_ —then beat me to death in order to teach us a lesson. We got free and incapacitated them.”

“And after?” Neil asked.

“No loose ends,” Evie said matter-of-factly. “Unfortunately, it was the only response.”

“Sometimes y’gotta,” Daryl nodded. He looked at his little ninja. Paul was not happy with it, but he understood it. “A’ight, y’all. We got a truck ta load up. Let’s see what’s goin’ and where.”

“Daryl?” Steve stood up off the window ledge. 

Daryl and Paul turned to face him.

“This installation also has a Class 2 arms cache,” the agent advised.

Daryl just gaped back and gestured as if the man had spoken in Swahili.

“We have significant arms, one level down. There are also several vehicles at the far end,” Steve explained. “This way.”

They followed the man down to the far end of the facility. The fleet was comprised of 2 RVs, 10 cars, 10 trucks, 10 SUVs, and 5 motorcycles, 5 four-wheelers, and a motorboat on a trailer. A set of reinforced double doors led into the armory. Rows upon rows of military weaponry were illuminated. 

“Over here,” he gestured as he entered a side hall. “The barracks are fairly Spartan, but they should do for the night. Everyone can have their own room.”

“We’ll be in the same room,” Daryl declared. His fingers slotting together with Paul’s.

Steve saw the gesture and smiled. 

“What’s so funny?”

“It’s not funny, Daryl. It’s beautiful,” the tall man replied. “You guys take the VIP room. It has a private bathroom.”

He opened a door and flicked on the lights. Daryl had never stayed in a five-star hotel, but he’d seen brochures about Vegas and The Hangover. This room was made for somebody important.

“Let me guess,” Paul ventured, stepping in. “The Vice President is in an _undisclosed location_.”

“One of them,” Steve chuckled. “Go grab your things, get cleaned up. Then we can all sort out food.”

Daryl stood looking at the off-white carpet, wondering where he could leave his boots. 

“You can’t hurt anything here,” Steve explained. “Oh, this place has tank-less water heaters, so hop right in to the shower if you like.” He flipped on the switch to the bathroom. It looked like something out of a fucking magazine. Black marble and glass tile grouted in dark gray. Thick towels and terry-cloth bathrobes. Hell, even slip on bedroom shoes.

“I need to go get that bag I left in the car,” he said, his eyes speaking volumes to Daryl.

_It’s a playtime overnight bag! Ah, yeah!_

“Actually, lubes and toys are in the nightstands and under the bathroom sink,” Steve said, shrugging as he strode back to the door. Paul ducked in quickly, a sound of “yes!” issuing forth to indicate he’d found the lube. “Take your time, guys. And—I’m sorry—about the rocky start. I hope we can be friends. Now, you guys get in there and fuck each other’s brains out.” He smiled warmly and closed the door behind him, rejoining the others and showing them to other rooms.

“Wanna BJ in BJ’s?” asked Paul, his fingers snatching at Daryl’s belt as quickly as he could, pulling him farther into the bathroom.

Daryl’s breath caught. He held Paul’s face in his hands and started kissing him, hot and deep. He felt the leather strap roll out of his belt loops. Paul carefully lowered his hands, never breaking the impassioned kiss, while walking him back toward the luxurious bathroom, hands find the buttons of his shirt, carefully removing it and the leather vest. 

They kissed each other, tongues dancing joyfully, as they made their way into the bathroom, Paul breaking away long enough to lean into the shower and turn the water on while his man pressed up against his back and reached around to unbuckled his knife belts and undo his pants. An overhead rain flow began, warm and beckoning. 

Steam started to rise as the last of their clothing hit the tiled floor. In a lightning fast move, Paul had turned Daryl around and moved with him into the waterfall. Delirium washed over the two of them carried along in the blisteringly welcome deluge. Daryl felt himself pressed up against the back wall of the shower. His left hand finding an assist bar near the corner and his right stroking the water into Paul’s hair. The warmth of his love’s mouth enveloping his growing cock, lips locking in, tongue curled and tantalizing. When his full length was achieved, Paul inhaled deeply and took him down to the base, holding his hips, feeling Daryl pant and writhe at his expertise. He came up just enough to breathe through his now and raise a hand to Daryl’s mouth. The archer bathed the digits in as much spit as he could muster before Paul brought his hand back down; he backed off Daryl’s huge cock and pumped it twice, slowly milking the pre-cum to add with his lover’s spit and the lube he’d placed in the shower; The little ninja returned to his attentions, one hand lovingly cupping and teasing Daryl’s balls, the other now reach back between his legs, into the cleft of his ass. Daryl felt the middle finger teasing him open. Paul had slowed the blowjob to a painfully slow pace, his tongue playing in the slit and rolling around the head. Daryl’s whimpered, his eyes squinted, looking down into Paul’s, unable to speak, just nodding frantically.

His moan of pleasure when to finger entered him was nothing short of vulgar. Paul’s look of satisfaction was clear. He let Daryl know it, then dove back into sucking furiously and fingering Daryl’s ass, curving his finger to delicately touch the prostate. 

Heat pooled in Daryl’s stomach and flowed downward. He wasn’t going to be able to take this much longer. And he knew Paul wanted it that way. There was no recourse, but to give in. Taking a handful of Paul’s wet hair, he began to pump his hips and fuck Paul’s mouth and his finger—correction, fingers; Paul had added a second.

The wave began to crash and Daryl yelled out. “Paul! Oh, god! Paul! M’cummin’!!! AHH!!! AHH!!! YEAH!! Take it all!!” The climax peaked as Paul buried himself down to the base again, swallowing Daryl’s love with his own. Slowly, lovingly, he brought his head back up, teasing Daryl’s oversensitivity for a few licks, then withdrawing his fingers.

He stood up and kissed Daryl, letting his god-of-a-man taste himself on his tongue. They spent forty-five minutes in the shower, getting pruned fingers by the time they felt truly clean. They were surprised to discover that the floor tiles were heated. As Paul was commenting on it, Daryl picked up his little ninja and laid him down on a couple of towels.

“Looks like there’s about to be a re-stock at BJ’s. Aisle nine and a half!” the hunter rasped as he engulfed his man’s hard length. Paul cried out as his back arched and his eyes rolled back.

 

****

 

Evie sat watching the monitor to the hidden cameras in the VIP room. 

“Voyeurism isn’t typically your thing,” Steven chided. He had startled her; the man moved like a shadow when he wanted.

Evie quickly collected herself, sighed heavily, and looked around at him. Her annoyance was clear. “He didn’t recognize you.”

“No,” Steven shook his head.

“You could have seduced them both. Gotten them on our side,” she stated. “Not like you haven’t done it before.” She sounded annoyed, although whether it was because the agent could seduce two a committed male couple so quickly or because he had done so previously to a pair of agents she’d sent after him, she wasn’t even sure.

“Last time I checked,” the tall man replied, “I didn’t work for you.”

Evie rubbed her temple in frustration. “I’m just saying that we could have them stitched in as assets.”

Steven reached over and turned off the monitor; his voice was so low and cold that Evie had to strain to hear it. He was giving her a dose of her own medicine. She didn’t care for it.

“I want this to be very clear: Daryl Dixon paid the price for knowing me. Now, he is happy, or at least he is as happy as his circumstances allow for. He has someone he loves and who is in love with him, and I swear to you, that if you do anything to fuck this up, I will take away those secret ampules you think no one else knows about,” he declared, pausing. “Along with the use of your legs.” 

Evie’s face went pale. He wasn’t joking, and she remembered why.

 

****

 

**_King County, GA – 1986_ **

“You know, you’re really like Wolverine.”

“Pfft,” scoffed the skinny teen. “You’re fulla shit.” Normally he’d have pushed at the blonde boy’s shoulder, but not this time, not here, hidden away up in the branches of the grand magnolia. It had been his mama’s favorite.

“Man, I’m serious!” countered the blonde. “You can hunt and track better than anybody, even better than Merle and your daddy. Probably even better than Mr Jess, I reckon!” He reached over and squeezed the teen’s bicep. “And all that lifting you do with Merle’s old set has you getting bigger. You’re gonna have arms like your—“

“I ain’t ever gonna be like him!” the young man snapped.

The skinny boy looked back through his long brown tresses. His daddy hadn’t made him shear it off since Merle left for the army. The judge had given him the choice of service or prison since he was 18 and a return to juvie was no longer an option. The look wasn’t his usually dirty stare, at least not to the blonde boy who knew him so well. It was one of conjecture; he knew his friend hadn’t meant to snap at him.

“So who’re you?” 

“Maybe Captain Britain?” the blonde said, shrugging, his left side up next to the other boy’s right.

“You ain’t big enough yet. More like Wild Child.”

“Huh.”

Pause.

“I like Wild Child,” the blonde added softly, looking over at his best friend in the world.

The two looked at each other in the quiet of the shade, the world far gone. Those eyes, eyes that had seen so much hate and hurt, ocean blue, hidden by a squinting expression resulting from the necessity to be ever wary. Their lips met, shy and unsure. They tried again, finding hands reaching over to touch face, neck, and chest. 

Daryl knew he liked Steven Goldwire. He had since that moment in the first grade when the blonde boy had lied to the teacher to keep Daryl from getting in trouble for going back outside. The blonde boy had found a mole, and was showing the cute little critter to Daryl when another boy came up, saw it, slapped it to the ground, and stomped it with the callous conceit of a six year-old. The scream that came from the blonde was horrific and nearly curled Daryl’s blood. His reaction had been to sock the offender in the nose, sending him to the nurse. Daryl and Steven had tried to make the little creature as comfortable as possible as they both cried over it until it died shortly before recess ended. Daryl had expected to get sent to the principle until Steven told the teacher what the other boy had done. Once back inside, Daryl had asked to go to the restroom, but instead, he snuck outside to find the animal’s body and hide it behind the old tires at the far end of the playground, making sure that ants wouldn’t get at it so they could bury it together later. When he returned and the teacher asked what had taken him so long and if he had truly gone to the restroom, Steven piped up to tell the teacher that he had spoken with Daryl earlier at lunch and that Daryl had not been able to eat much because he wasn’t feeling well. From that moment on, the two were practically inseparable. Finding out that Steven lived at the back of the trailer park Daryl’s house was behind? That was icing on the cake. 

But as with all things good, there was the bad. Merle, annoyingly enough, had nicknamed the two _“Goldilocks”_ and _“Darylina.”_ Although he could be a total shit to the pair, Daryl was pretty sure his brother actually liked Goldilocks since the kid and his family were always so good to them. When his mother had died in the fire, they’d opened their home to the boys and his daddy until arrangements for a trailer on the property could be made. Although he hadn’t stayed long, And while he resented it deeply, Will Dixon had allowed the boys to stay with the Goldwires for a time, but soon enough he demanded they return. Steven had heard his family telling Will he needed to be patient with the boys. The old bastard hadn’t liked that one damn bit, and he took it out on Merle to start, then Daryl, and over time, the methods grew with the rage that his drinking, and eventual drug use, brought out in him. 

To try to offset things, the Goldwires arranged for Daryl to get a bike when he turned 11 and a Stryker crossbow at age 14. They had even asked Will if he wanted them to take Daryl with them the day Goldilocks told Daryl they were moving to South Georgia. They were going to some tiny town of less than 50 people called Skullhead; it was on the northern edge of the Okeefenokee Swamp.Daryl had never expected his father to say yes. It was a miracle. He was 16 and free! Best of all, the Goldwires didn’t want him to tell his daddy or Merle where he was going, just in case Will might try to start trouble.

That night, he and Goldilocks had shared the night together, fishing and camping under the stars. They had a shitty boombox from Western Auto that Daryl had gotten on sale for super cheap because the store was going out of business. They cooked up blue-gill brim, ate Pringles, and made s’mores with marshmallows on sticks. Daryl even managed to sneak out half of a quart jar of Will Dixon’s homemade ‘shine. By the time they finished it, they were feeling just right. They had cried together with Daryl’s head in Steven’s lap to Luka by Suzanne Vega. They cheered back up to Walk This Way by Run DMC & Aerosmith, thinking how cool it would be to be one of The Lost Boys. They crooned along together to Annie Lennox in _Would I Lie to You_ as they wrestled together and eventually moved to kissing, touching, and shedding their clothes.

When the roar of rage rang out from Will Dixon, the pair had gotten up to snatch on their jeans. They had barely gotten started, but he’d seen them making out, sucking, starting to make love when he burst forth. He had punched Daryl twice in the face and dragged him by the hair back out of the woods. Steven followed as fast as he could until the gunshot rang out and the bullet struck the tree nearest him. 

He waited until he couldn’t stand it, then tore out at a run all the way back to Daryl’s place, using the X-Men logos—a large “X” in a circle—Daryl always marked their trails with to keep himself on the path.

He could hear a heavy thwacking sound and the terrible screams and pleas coming from Daryl. It was not unlike the one that had issued from his on throat a decade before. Carefully and quietly, using everything Daryl had taught him, Goldilocks moved up to the yard to see what was happening to the boy he loved. Outside, under the light of the front door at the concrete block steps, Will Dixon stood over his youngest son. Hanging from the man’s hand was a bloody leather razor strop. Daryl’s back had been split open several times and the boy was prone, exposed, and utterly defenseless. 

" **YOU AIN’T GOIN’ NOWHERE!!!** ” roared Will Dixon. With his left hand, he pulled the Ruger Redhawk .44-magnum revolver and leveled it behind Daryl’s skull. “I’ll _kill you myself_ before I let you run off and be a **fuckin’ faggot!** ”

“Please god NO!!!” yelled the blonde.

“Git off my land, ya faggot!” Another shot rang out toward, but it was wide. The man was drunk and shooting with his off-hand. “If I ever see you or your family again, yer dead! Every last one of ya!”

Another shot, this one closer. Steven stood up.

“You will pay for this, motherfucker!” he yelled. The shot was very close; he felt the air whip by.

He ran for help.

“No!” Daryl groaned. Will struck him on top of the head with the butt of the pistol, and he loss consciousness. That was the last day he’d ever seen Goldilocks. No phone calls, no letters, no postcards. He’d tried to get one of Merle’s fuckbuddies to look him up on the Internet and found nothing. There wasn’t even a trace of information indicating he’d ever been born or lived in Skullhead, GA. He’d just vanished.

 

****

 

“He’s gonna kill him!”

Rebecca and Thomas Goldwire looked at their son, their faces grim. 

“Do something, goddamnit!”

“We are,” said Thomas, softly. “We’re leaving.”

“What do you mean? Daryl’s supposed to come with us!”

“He can’t now,” Mrs. Goldwire said, shaking her head.

“But, he could be one of us—“

“His father is making things difficult. He knows corrupt people in law enforcement. They’re already looking into us.”

The tears streamed down Steven’s face. He looked down to his feet, then over to his aunt.

“I know it’s hard,” said Evie. Her voice was full of genuine empathy and recognition. “But the risk is too great. You all have to be gone before daybreak. The Dixon boy is an asset; nothing more.”

“No, no, you don’t get it, Evie—“

The slap across the face got his attention. He turned to storm away, but the lightning movement of her hand, the grip like a steel vise, and her eyes dark and terrifying signaled no defiance would be tolerated this time. The accompanying snarl that came forth from the woman was enough to cause him to recoil and his “parents” to step back.

“ _Do as I say_ ,” she uttered through gritted teeth. Steven leaned away and snatched back his forearm, rubbing the red mark that was doubtless going to bruise. He turned and left.

 

****

 

**_Skullhead, GA - 1987_ **

“You have to do it, son,” said Thomas, nodding seriously at the hooded figure tied to the chair in the garden house. 

“This is your final test,” said Rebecca. “If you can do this, you'll be an officer.”

The figure was trembling beneath the hood. The silenced .9-mm pistol felt right.

“Remove the hood,” Rebecca told him. "It's important that you see."

_You know who your family is. You know what they do. You know what they’ve made you into. Oh Daryl, I hope you got away._

“Just do it,” Thomas said. “It’s not as hard as you think. Just like jumping off the high dive the first time. You’ll look back and think how it wasn’t nearly as bad as you thought it might be.”

Steven reached out with his left hand and tugged at the hood. 

_You know who’s under here._

The white muslin slipped off to reveal Cale Howard, Steven’s current boyfriend.

“Go ahead, sweetheart—“ 

“This was what you had planned for Daryl, right? That’s why you had asked to bring him along to live with us. Because you knew I cared for him? Because you thought he wouldn’t be missed?”

The silent admission was undeniable.

Four muffled pops in quick succession left two dead KGB agents—each with two bullets in the brain—on the floor of the utility shed. 

“Cale” looked up. Even though the young man could pass for a teenager, Steven had read his file. His real name was Mark Sommers. The CIA operative was 25 and decent in bed. He knew the redhead was trouble since their first handjob exchange in the locker room at school. He had also read the orders from Evie saying he was to be erased if he couldn’t follow through.

_You knew you were fucking a 16 year-old who was a second generation foreign agent. Fucking spies._

“For a second there, I thought—“ Mark started, his fake half-grin trying to mask his very real fear.

“Shut up,” Steven snapped, placing the barrel of the gun between the man’s eyes. Mark’s smile was gone and he was breathing rapidly through his nose. “Tell me how to make contact with your handler, or I’m going to start using Aunt Evie’s methods.” He inclined his head toward the wall; Mark followed the gesture to notice the hanging garden tools and bottles of herbicide.

A middle-aged gentleman by the name of Finn Van Elk arrived a little over two hours later to begin the recruitment and repatriation process. In the meantime, Mark helped him dump his adopted parent’s bodies into the swamp and access the house’s field operations stores.


	6. Full Circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl and Steven share memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been a long time coming. If you get a chance, please check out the songs for a glimpse back into the past and what was playing in the club scene back then. Ah, nostalgia! Thanks for your patience! I hope to add to this again soon. 3 WIPs? What was I thinking? Please check out the others when you get a chance, and keep in mind that your comments are creative fuel!!!! 
> 
> Much love, and happy reading!  
> XOXO

**_July 1989 – New Orleans, LA_ **

“I.D.,” droned the bouncer. He sounded tired and bored. If the whiff of skunk weed coming off of him was any indication, he was high too. Only his sheer size made him formidable; even though he was seated on the bar stool at the front door, it was clear that the man was well over six feet tall, and with his shaved head and various tattoos, he looked tough, scary even. That’s what was needed in a bouncer. The majority of the time, the goal was to discourage trouble by showing that you had the capacity to make your own. Fortunately for the bouncer, he wasn’t the target.

_He’s built like Will Dixon. Daryl’s gotta be well on his way to a frame like that. Merle was nearly there already._

Steven snapped back into the present as he handed the card over. The man barely gave the driver’s license a perfunctory glance before handing it back. Steven took it and smiled shyly—the newbie gay kid just out of the closet—walking into the nightclub and paying the cover to an ancient drag queen who was so ancient she’d probably come down the Mississippi with La Salle. At first he thought she was somewhat entertaining. Then, he realized she was half lit when she suggested that he let her take him home so she could “chew on his nipples.” Steven just nodded and pressed his lips together in a slight grimace as he accepted his change and walked into the club proper. 

In less than two minutes, he’d navigated through the throng of dancing patrons and retrieved the package taped to the bottom of a table along the west wall. There was a number to call. Steven looked around and saw a phone sign through the artificial fog occasionally billowing from several smoke machines placed around the dancefloor. Karyn White’s “Secret Rendezvous” filled the club even more than the slightly sweet oil vapor.

He fed a quarter into the machine and dialed the ten digits. The line picked up on the first ring.

_“Go to the top of the stairwell, enter the left door marked ‘Employees Only.’ Contact when you’re on the air, and await further instructions.”_

The call disconnected. Steven hung up the phone and moved quietly up the next flight of stairs, passing several drunk patrons. One guy greeted him with interest; Steven smiled back, showing teeth. They kept watching each other as they went their separate directions. It would have been nice to have some companionship on this trip, but that was dangerous for both of them. Encounters now, were just that—unless of course sex was in the line of duty. They could be asked to do anything. He’d already had more meaningless sex than people more than twice his age, and it had taken its toll emotionally.

At the top of the stairs was a landing with two doors, one let and one right. Steven entered the left door with the employee sign. It was a storage room full of items and décor for various holidays. On a table beside a window was radio transmitter with headset. The window was missing a pane at the bottom left. Steven put on the headset, adjusted the microphone, and turned on the device.

“Goldilocks in position.”

_“Get the package inside the head of the Chinese dragon.”_

Steven turned and looked to his right. A huge, gaudy Chinese dragon puppet in Mardi Gras gold, green, and purple lay off to the side. Steven carefully opened the mouth. A black suitcase sat inside. He pulled out the case and took it over to the table at the open window where there was light enough to work. 

“Package acquired.”

_“Open it.”_

Steven flipped open the latches and opened the case to reveal a semi-automatic Remington 700 series sniper rifle with night scope and combination silencer/flash suppressor in component pieces. In less than ten seconds, the rifle was assembled, locked, and loaded.

“Assembly complete.”

_“Prepare for target acquisition.”_

The seconds clicked by like hours. The room was hot and stifling. Sweat began to roll down Steven’s neck and back. The street below was teaming with partying travelers and locals reveling in the glory that is Bourbon Street.

“Request target i.d.”

_“Awaiting data.”_

Steven sighed through his nose. The thumping bass from the dancefloor below vibrated up through his knees and hips. He’d have to check out the scene when he was done here.

_“Target visible in five seconds.”_

Steven popped open the scope’s cover lid and lay the rifle’s muzzle through the open window pane. Three motorcycles came into view, heading toward the corner junction below. They came to a stop at the light.

_“The rider in the middle.”_

The riders were right at the edge of the crosswalk. Tons of people moved from the banquette into the street in front of them.

_“The target in the middle.”_

“I don’t have a clear shot. I could hit a pedestrian.”

_“Authority has cleared for collateral damage. Take the shot.”_

_“Take the goddamn shot!” came Van Elk’s voice._

The light changed and the final couple traipsed out of the way as the motorcycles revved their engines and started forward. Steven honed in, exhaled, and squeezed.

_“What are you waiting for—“_

Two quiet pops and the rider fell over. The other cyclists went forward through the light and stopped in the middle of the cross-street to check on their compatriot who’d quite literally fallen behind.

_Bodyguards? No, worse: allies._

Slamming shut the case, Steven watched the scene below. 

_“Target status?”_

“Target is down. I repeat: Target is down. Request instructions.”

_“Mission accomplished. Come in for debriefing.”_

One of the motorcyclists pulled to the side and parked, looking around while the other knelt in the street next to his fallen charge, now yelling for help and trying to giving first aid to no avail. Both rounds had hit through the heart. The one who was still up grabbed the other by the arm, and both started tearing across the street toward the club.

_He’s seen the missing window pane._

Two minutes later, Goldilocks demolished an entire storeroom, fighting for his very life while Black Box’s “Ride on Time” pulsed over the speakers in the nightclub below.

****

Van Elk opened the bathroom door and nearly had a heart attack.

“What in god’s name are you doing--?” The man stopped and put on his glasses from the nightstand. “Have you been _stabbed_?” Van Elk picked up the phone and started speaking.

Steven’s glare would have been worthy of the surname Dixon.

_Fucking handlers._

“Goldilocks is here with me. I need a full medical trauma team, now. _Now_!”

“They’re all handled,” Steven said. His left eye was nearly closed from the swelling, he was covered in blood, cuts, and bruises, and he held his left side as blood oozed between his fingers. “It was Myers and Wilkins who were with Devereaux. Scratch three double-agents. Evie’s gonna be fucking pissed.” Steven winced at the wound in his side and smiled back at Van Elk’s look of surprise. Moments later, the trauma team burst through the hotel room door.

It was the first of many such close calls.

****

A week later, Steven walked out of the hospital recovery ward, checked the three motorcycles out of the impound lot, sold two of them for cash, and gave one to an asset to better stitch her in. The next day, he waited in the brush outside of the old house. It had not gotten any better since the last time he’d seen it two years before. 

Will Dixon had left early, cursing and snorting about what better be done around the place by the time he returned. The old Dodge truck rambled away toward the carpet factory where the man had worked on and off for the past few years.

Steven had learned to keep his composure, but his heart pounded in his chest when Daryl Dixon kicked open the old screen door and walked out toward the woods, the very crossbow he’d been given by Steven and his family strapped across his back. It was beating so hard, he thought it might break through his chest like gruesome a scene from _Aliens_ that he and Daryl had loved to watch together. He had to hold his breath and clamp a hand across his mouth to keep from crying out when Daryl slowed down and let his fingers brush over the bullet hole scar in the sweet gum tree before moving on to his hunt. It was the same one where Will’s bullet had been coming for Steven what seemed like forever ago. When he was sure Daryl was long gone, Steven made his way into the house and back to Daryl’s room. He’d had access to public school records; Daryl’s high school diploma status was listed as conferred. He put the envelope with the unsigned congratulations card that instead read “Always” and the cash therein under Daryl’s pillow. Then, he went to the kitchen, cleaned it up, cleared out the refrigerator, straightened up the living room, cleaned ashes from the fireplace, changed the linens on the beds, picked up the dirty clothes, and placed them in the baskets near the washer on the back porch. By noon, he was done and left to hike back down the road to the car he had hidden. Steven had been tempted to stay and see Daryl, to let him know he was alive. 

That night, the young agent finished off the bottle of vodka and sunk in the garden tub full of half the floor’s ice machine of the expensive hotel in Savannah. He hoped Daryl would be happy as tears slid down his face.

****

**_Now_ **

The hunter lay silently watching over his little ninja in the early hours of the morning. A thousand thoughts raced through Daryl’s head. 

_What kinda James Bond bullshit have we stepped in now?_

The room was posh to say the least. Paul’s breathing was slow and steady, and Daryl smiled to himself as he observed the small rise and fall of Paul’s body, all sprawled out and content. The big man kissed his lover’s shoulder and tucked him up comfortably under the soft, warm duvet before rising. He dressed in the dark and armed himself with a knife and his pistol.

As he peeked out into the hall, he found the hall lights were on, and there was a plastic bin with clothes inside—new clothes—and a note from Evie, saying she’d had to guess their sizes. He moved the bin inside the room for Paul to find and try on if he wanted.

Daryl slipped quietly from the room and closed the door softly behind him, trying to leave Paul in deep, peaceful slumber in the most comfortable bed in which either of them had ever slept. Something was off, and the hunter couldn’t quite put a finger on it. There was something just out of his reckoning, something he was missing—not that the whole situation wasn’t as bizarre as a butter knife made out of terrycloth, but it had his gut in a flurry that made him restless and stirred him into action. The stubborn streak in him was going to get to the bottom of it.

Daryl walked along the hallway and found an office with an open door. Inside on a wall-mounted flat screen, a CIA file was still pulled up. Daryl’s heart sank. There was Steve’s picture, and recognition began to dawn on the redneck.

NAME: GOLDWIRE, STEVEN ALEXANDER  
BIRTH NAME: VOLKOV, STEFAN ALEXEI  
CODENAME: GOLDILOCKS  
CLEARANCE LEVEL: 6  
RACE: CAUCASIAN  
HEIGHT: 6’0” (183 cm)  
WEIGHT: 190 LBS (86 kg)  
DOB: 10-JUL-1971  
BIRTHPLACE: MALMO, SWEDEN

NOTES:  
SECOND GENERATION KGB/GRU SLEEPER AGENT PROGRAM (OPERATION: MORPHEUS).  
KILLED PARENTS AT AGE 15.  
RECRUITED TO CIA COUNTER-INTELLIGENCE PROGRAMS

CURRENT ASSIGNMENT:  
COVERT OPERATIONS

CURRENT LOCATION:  
UNKNOWN

LAST KNOWN LOCATION:  
ARGUN, CHECHNYA

TALENTS/TRAINING:  
LINGUISTICS (17 LANGUAGES)  
DISGUISE  
MEDICAL RESPONSE/FIRST AID  
HUNTING  
TRACKING  
SURVIVAL (WILDERNESS, DESERT, URBAN)  
SPEED READING  
COMPUTER APTITUDE

COMBAT SKILLS:  
COUNTER-ASSASSINATION  
THREAT ELIMINATION  
CLOSE QUARTER COMBAT: KALARIPAYATTU, KUNG FU, KRAV MAGA  
SNIPER  
EDGED WEAPONS  
IMPROVISED WEAPONS  
APPLIED EXPLOSIVE TECHNIQUES  
RAPID ASSAULT & MILITARY WEAPONS  
SURVEILLANCE/COUNTER-SURVEILLANCE  
DRIVING TECHNIQUE  
CONVERT COMMUNICATIONS  
MILITARY FREE FALL PARACHUTING  
INTERROGATION/PRECISE APPLICATION OF LETHAL FORCE

Daryl read it all twice, then left the room and closed the door behind him. He made his way to the garage entrance. One of the bays was open. Neil, Russell, and the others were loading up the moving truck. Brooke drove a battery powered fork truck, lifting heavy pallets of supplies and transporting them to the loading dock’s edge while the others slid the pallets in the cargo trailer and secured them. 

“Morning, Daryl,” Kirby called, making his way over. “Thought we’d get a start and get this stuff over to Hilltop and Alexandria today.”

“Y’all wuddn’t gonna wake us up?” Daryl muttered.

“Your folks said to let you and Jesus rest,” Kirby answered, shrugging. “I get it.”

Daryl turned back to see what Brook had just set down. It was an entire pallet of Bisquick™ mix. His thoughts ran to Abe.

_You ever think about it? Settling down?_

“Hey guys!” Evie’s voice came through the PA system. “Breakfast is ready.” 

Once the final crates were secured and the truck was locked, Kirby closed the bay door, and everyone made their way back to the kitchen and dining hall. Mandy and Evie had eggs, juice, and protein bars ready for everyone. 

“Powdered eggs?” asked Kirby.

“You know it!” Evie laughed. “US Grade A military food.”

“I’m not complaining,” said Paul, who had awakened and now made his way in to join Daryl.

“We should ride ahead after breakfast,” Steve suggested. “If there are more of these rogue Saviors about, we should scout ahead on the bikes. You guys game?” He looked to Daryl and Paul.

Daryl nodded and focused on his food. “Yeah. Sounds smart.”

“So, are you gonna teach me how to ride now?” Paul asked, bumping his shoulder into his handsome hunter’s.

“I reckon so,” Daryl answered, his smile returning now that Paul was here.

“Good,” Steve replied, not missing the look Evie gave him as she started passing out cups of coffee.

****

The pair of matte black Triumph Daytona 675 motorcycles zipped down the road. Daryl had never seen a helmet with radios like these, all Bluetooth and extra. They sure came in handy. Daryl took the lead, Paul holding tight behind him. Finally, they came to a stop and parked the bikes about fifteen miles away.

Daryl led Paul and Steve along a trail they had passed by. He knew exactly where it was on the way to Alexandria. The old barn was still standing, a faithful sentinel watching over the swath of snapped pines left in the wake of the tornado over a year ago. Daryl told them the story and led them over to the trail Morgan had followed. 

“Now, you tell us the truth,” Daryl said, stopping behind Steve. 

Steven sighed, touched the carved out “X” in the circle, the trail marks Daryl had made for their group, the very ones he’d always used when he and Steve marked their favorite trails back in the Georgia woods, the symbol of their favorite comic book heroes. The spy turned back and shook his head before meeting the hunter’s eyes. “Hey, Daryl.”

“I knew it! I knew it was you!” Daryl’s breathing starting fast and hard through his nose, but this time, the Dixon death stare was immediately replaced by the look of anguish he’d had the day he found Merle as a walker. “Why didn’t you say anythang?” 

“You were _happy_ ,” Steve explained, his own voice cracking and choked. “You found someone, and I didn’t want to mess that up. God, Daryl, I tried—I _swear_ , I tried to find you and Merle. I found the mark outside of a church near Sugar Loaf, and I followed an old trail north. Then, I found it again, and I knew it wasn’t coincidence.”

Daryl rushed forward and embraced his long, lost friend. After a moment, they wiped their tears, and Daryl turned and beckoned Paul over.

“Paul, this is—“

“Goldilocks,” Paul finished, smiling and drawing the tall man in for a tight hug.

“Okay, it doesn’t sound bad when you say it,” Steven admitted.

“You’ve met my better half, Paul Rovia,” Daryl announced.

Paul huffed a laugh and added, “But most of my friends call me ‘Jesus.’”

“Where’s Merle?” Steven asked.

Daryl shook his head and told both Paul and Steven about Merle’s end; it was the first time he’d told anyone else that he’d actually been the one to have to put Merle down. Everyone else involved had simply assumed that the Governor had killed Merle outright. Steven sighed heavily, looked down, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, Daryl.”

“Don’t be,” said Daryl. “He was Merle, through and through, but in the end, he went out tryin’ ta stop a maniac who was a threat to everyone. Did it all by himself, like the asshole he was. Speakin’ a-which, it was _you_ , wuddn’t it? The graduation card, the money, the house—that day back in the summer after I graduated. It was all _you_.” Daryl looked at Paul, the scout’s face expectant of further explanation. “I came home from huntin’ rabbits to find the house spruced up. That might I found a card with $10,000 in it.”

Goldilocks nodded. “Courtesy of three US spies Evie had managed to flip. I hope it helped.”

“It did. You know Merle took credit for that shit,” Daryl laughed.

Steven’s face changed immediately; he looked pissed.

“Told ya he was still an asshole,” Daryl snickered.

“Did he get into the money in the card?” Steven asked.

“Nah, I’d already got that. Just asked him if he did the house and card. He lied to me ‘cause he didn’t do anything fer me after I finished school, but I always knew better,” Daryl assured. “Merle wuddn’t the generous type.”

“So what’s it like, being a secret agent?” Daryl asked. “You’re file thing was up on one of the screens in the conference room.”

Steven grinned and shook his head. “Evie did that on purpose. She wants me to recruit you two. If you want to know about being a super spy, ask her. She’s GRU, former old school KGB.”

“ _That_ explains a lot,” said Paul. He looked at Daryl. “What did she want to recruit us for?”

Steven turned and grinned. “We’re going to Langley.”

Paul’s eyes went wide. “Whaaaat? That’s like CIA headquarters! Holy shit! Eugene is an idiot if he didn’t think of going there. Then again, I guess we all are.”

“Maybe there’s still someone there who has enough information to fix this,” Steven mused.

They started back to the bikes when Neil’s voice came over the walkie talkie, “Jesus! Daryl! Anyone! We’re on Highway 1 and we’re taking fire! Please help!”

The trio ran back to the road, fired up the bikes, and raced back to their compatriots.

****

They came to a stop and turned off the bikes on the road. Four of the ex-Saviors had blocked the road with trucks. Now, their friends were in an all-too-familiar semi-circle, covered by three men and a woman with automatic weapons, probably the last of the cache Daryl and Rick had been searching for months ago at the start of the war.

“That’s close enough!” order the man closest. “Shut off the bikes, get off slow and easy, and drop your weapons on the road—everything! Now! And just so you know that we mean even more business than Negan…” He nodded to the woman, and she executed Clay with a shot to back of the head.

The three got off the bikes, dropped their arms, and came over to kneel down.

“Good, boys!” said the first man. “Now, if you all have managed to fill a truck that size in just one day, you must have found a big stash somewhere close by but out of the way. So, I’m only going to ask once, and then, I am going to make people tell me, and so that you understand, Negan’s no touching rule is no longer in effect.”

“You think you’re a big man because you can take a woman by force?” quipped Steven.

“Thanks for volunteering to go first, blondie!” The man turned his rifle to strike Steven in the back of the head with the butt. Steven rolled back out of the way. At the same time, Kirby’s boot knife sunk into the knee of the man nearest him. Evie socked the man behind her dead in the balls, scrambling against him and pointing his rifle at the woman as it went off and blew a hole clean through her midsection. Jesus was up in a flash, two blades flying: one into the eye socket of the man struggling with Evie, the other to be caught by Daryl. Daryl launched the blade and sunk it hilt deep in the first man’s side. His gun went off and he tried to level his sites on Daryl just as Steven sprung up to his feet and kicked the man in the temple with the toe of his boot. When the boot came away, Daryl and Paul saw the knife sticking from the front.

A terrible cry of pain came from the crowd as walkers began shambling around the vehicles, drawn by the first gun shot.

“Evie!” Kirby yelled, picking up the rifle and using it as a club to bash away the undead creature that had bitten her neck. Others stopped at the bodies and began to devour them. Jesus and Steven ran over, retrieving knives and taking out dead while Daryl got hold of the rifle to bash in skulls and fire only as necessary. When it was all over, seventeen walkers, four ex-Saviors, and Clay lay dead. Jesus took care of Clay, and they loaded his body into a vehicle to take to Hilltop.

Away from the group, Steven and Kirby sat down and spoke quietly to Evie.

“Promise me you will finish it,” she ordered. Even through the pain, the woman’s voice still held an air of command. “You know you were always the best. I never wanted us on opposite sides.”

“Aunt Evie,” Steven lamented. “I—“

“No, don’t,” she said. “You don’t have to forgive. I understand. After all I put you through; I put you in a life that has damaged you the way it damaged me. We tried to kill each other so many times.” Even in the truth, the old spy mistress’s levity was unexpected in such a moment.

A tear ran down Steven’s cheek. “You’re finally succeeding.” The older woman reverted to her native tongue as she reached up and wiped away the tears with her fingers.

{“Oh, my precious one! No tears now. You are the greatest of us, and you’ve finally found who you needed most to help you. You will conquer this new world. Now, if you have ever loved or respected me, please do these three things for me: First, take the ampules and my necklace,”} she said, waiting to go on until Steven reached down, slid her pants leg up, and took the small ankle strap. He opened it and showed her the two intact vials within before strapping it to his own left ankle. The blonde agent reached around Evie’s neck and unhooked her necklace. In the pendant was a compartment with a tiny white pill; Steven closed it up and put the long chain around his own neck. Evie seemed to visibly relax and spoke again. {“And do not let me roam, especially in this tacky sweater.”}

To everyone else’s eyes, they both chuckled at something, but the sentiment hit everyone as she pulled at the mustard yellow sweat shirt with flowers that she had found back in the base. Daryl thought it looked like something Carol would have picked out when she wanted to blend in as gentle and nonthreatening. Steven nodded back.

{“Try to find love again,”} Evie implored. {“I know how much you have suffered every time intimacy meant so little. It was a joy that was always taken away from our kind.”}

{“I promise,”} Steven answered softly.

Evie nodded to him. {“I’m ready.”} He held her hand.

The knife was quick.


End file.
